A Viscount to Remember: Regency Romance (Brides of London)

by Joyce Alec

  Lord Townend shook his head. “You are being foolish.”

  “And yet, I will do so regardless,” Daniel told him determinedly. “I do this not for my own sake but for that of Miss Smallwood. I cannot bear to have her going through the rest of the Season, and mayhap the rest of her life, thinking so ill of me! Not when there is a chance for her happiness, Townend. Not when there might be a happiness for us both.”

  Lord Townend sighed heavily and rubbed at his forehead. “Very well. But you must be cautious.”

  “I shall be,” Daniel promised grimly. “I am well aware of what is at stake.” The gossipmongers were present this evening, in their usual great numbers, for it seemed to be a pastime of married ladies to talk about every single piece of rumor they could discover. There was, it seemed, already a good deal being discussed about him and he did not want to give them anything more. At the very least, should he have the opportunity to speak to Miss Smallwood, he would be able to give her proof that he had not been at the bawdy house, as was being suggested. He could direct her to Lord Townend, who could state, honestly, that Daniel had been at his residence last evening for a late supper and a discussion about what else they could do to discover who was fighting against Daniel with such determination. Even Lord Townend’s staff could be used to prove that he spoke the truth.

  But he had to hope she would speak to him at all. If she had already heard all that was being said of him—and he quite believed that she would have done by now—then she might decide that he was not worth her time any longer. She might refuse even to acknowledge him. The very thought sent an arrow through his heart.

  “I shall return to your residence thereafter, shall I?” Lord Townend asked, as he made to step away. “I do not expect you to be lingering here long.”

  Daniel shook his head. “Come tomorrow,” he replied, thinking that he could benefit from a quiet evening with nothing more than his thoughts as company. “Early, if you wish.”

  Lord Townend nodded. “Of course. Try to rest easy. I am certain that we shall find a way through this ether.”

  Daniel, who felt as though the darkness was closing in on him on every side, could barely bring himself to nod, although he managed a small one before Lord Townend moved away. Taking in a long breath, he moved a little to the right, so as to keep his features as hidden by shadow as he could. The music, the dancing, and the laughter held no joy for him now. All he could hear were the whispers and the mocking laughter that were certain to come his way, should he reveal himself.

  And then, he saw Miss Martin.

  She was watching him from her own, dark corner, although her pale face was clearly visible from where he stood. Her eyes were fixed on his, wide and holding a look of fear that had his own heart filling with concern. Miss Martin had always kept away from him since she had become a companion, kept her distance and made it quite clear that she did not wish for his company, but now there was something in her face that had him wondering if there was, for the first time, a need for her to seek his aid.

  “Come here.”

  The whispered words did not meet Miss Martin’s ears, of course, but he beckoned her along with them, to which he immediately saw her react. Her glance to the left and then to the right made him wonder if she was immediately about to refuse him, if she was immediately about to turn her head and look in the entirely opposite direction, but then, much to his surprise, she began to make her way towards him.

  His breath caught in his chest as she drew close, seeing a vulnerability in her expression that he had not seen in a very long time.

  “Miss Martin,” he murmured as she looked up at him. “I presume you have heard the rumors.”

  She nodded but said nothing.

  “They are not true,” he insisted, wondering if she was questioning whether or not he was being honest with her. “Just as matters with Lady Burton were untrue, just as the bet in White’s was not written with my own hand. Someone is set against me and I pray, Miss Martin, that it is not you.”

  His words were quiet, but still, Miss Martin jerked visibly as if he had prodded her, hard.

  “No, Williamson, these things are not of my doing,” she answered him, her head low now. “Although I cannot pretend that I have not done my part to keep Miss Smallwood from you.”

  “But why have you done so?” he begged, the desire to finally discover the truth burning up in him again. “Why have you tried to keep your charge from me? Why have you called me a cad when you know I am not?”

  Miss Martin looked up at him, her eyes glassy. “I believe you are,” she told him without hesitation. “You use your power and authority to keep things from occurring in a way that would bring happiness to others. You need not deny it, Williamson. I know you did.”

  Daniel blinked, his mouth a little ajar as he stared at her. He did not understand what she spoke of, shaking his head as he fought to make sense of it.

  “I do not know what you mean, Miss Martin, truly,” he promised, seeing how she looked away. “Please, I—”

  She turned around and made to walk away and, in his desperation, he reached out and grasped her shoulder, making her turn at once.

  “Please, Christina.”

  Her expression softened at once and she closed her eyes, slowly turning back to him.

  “Will you not help me?” he pleaded, his voice tremulous, such was the weight of his emotions. “I am being torn apart in front of the beau monde and have no understanding as to why or for what reason. I care for Miss Smallwood, whether you wish to believe it or not. I had every intention of speaking to her father about courting her, with a view to proposing soon thereafter.”

  At this, Miss Martin’s head shot up, her eyes wide.

  “Tis true,” he asserted, seeing how her face paled a little. “I care deeply for Miss Smallwood, but now I am being kept from her by nothing more than lies and rumors. I want to set things aright but I do not know how to do so. I cannot discover who it is that is fighting against me, Christina. Do you know nothing? Is there not one word of insight you can give me that would aid me in this?”

  Miss Martin swallowed hard, her eyes filling with tears. Tears that he had not seen fall in years.

  “I—I have lied about you to Miss Smallwood,” she whispered, a single tear coursing down her cheek. “I wanted to bring you pain. I wanted to keep you from happiness, in the same way that you kept it from me.”

  Daniel wanted to bellow aloud with frustration. “I have done nothing of the sort! I—” His hand tightened on her shoulder without intention and he dropped it to his side, seeing how she shook her head.

  “I think my charge is aware of my falseness,” Miss Martin continued sorrowfully. “I have let my anger bubble over to the point that I now see I have not treated you or her with fairness. Perhaps…” She looked away, clearly ashamed. “I will encourage her to call upon you tomorrow. I shall tell her everything then.”

  “And you shall tell me everything also,” Daniel insisted, seeing a frown darken her features. “I speak the truth when I state that I do not understand what it is you hold against me, Christina.”

  She nodded but said nothing, her disbelief evident. Turning, she made to leave him, only to turn her head. “Tomorrow,” she said, as though this was a promise she was making to him. “Tomorrow, all shall be known, no matter what happens to me thereafter.” Turning her head away again, she moved back through the crowd, leaving Daniel standing in both relief and frustration. Relief that she was to tell him everything, but frustration that it had taken her so long to even consider doing such a thing. He wanted to find a footman and down at least three brandies, in the hope that it might take the edge from his frantic, whirling thoughts and emotions, but knew that he could not. Lord Mercer was to be the gentleman he found next.

  Thankfully, Lord Mercer was not particularly difficult to locate. A quiet word to a footman directed Daniel to the card room, where many gentlemen went when the dancing and the revelry became a little too much. Daniel h
eard Lord Mercer before he saw him, catching the gentleman’s booming voice echoing out from the room and into the hallway.

  He could not go in, that much he knew. To walk directly into the card room would be to face a good many gentlemen, all staring at him with full knowledge of the stories and rumors about him evident on their faces. Lord Mercer himself might react badly to Daniel’s presence, particularly if he was in his cups. Sighing heavily, Daniel moved slowly forward, seeing a small alcove just beyond the door of the card room where he might hide himself. Slipping past the door, he stopped dead upon hearing his name being spoken by another gentleman.

  “I could not quite believe it!” he heard the fellow say, flattening himself against the wall as a ball of anger settled itself in his stomach. “There he was, half-dressed and half cut by the look of it!” A loud guffaw crashed about the room, setting Daniel’s teeth on edge. “Of course, Lord Williamson will deny it, but there is no doubt about what I saw. In fact, I even have his money to prove it!”

  Daniel wanted to shout that money was no proof at all, but the other gentlemen within the card room all laughed uproariously at this and Daniel knew there was no point in trying to defend himself. Clenching his jaw tight, he balled his hands into fists and tried to keep his composure.

  “I do not know what has come over the man, behaving like that!” he heard Lord Mercer exclaim. “As far as I know, he is not at all that sort of fellow.”

  “Obviously he is,” came the first voice, still chuckling. “It is just that he has been well able to hide it from us thus far.”

  There was a short pause. “So it would seem,” Lord Mercer muttered, as Daniel fought to hear what was being said. “A little disappointing, I must say.”

  Still battling the urge to fling himself into the room and defend himself against these vile accusations, Daniel struggled to think clearly, trying to work out what was best for him to do next. He could wait for Lord Mercer to come out of the card room, although that might take hours, or he could try and identify the gentleman that had been speaking. Surely one of them would emerge soon enough? Nodding to himself, Daniel moved slowly towards the alcove, making sure his feet made no noise whatsoever on the floor. He had only just managed to draw near it, hiding himself away, when two gentlemen walked from the card room, talking to each other in an animated fashion.

  “Do you think it is true?” said the first as they walked away. “Lord Williamson is not inclined to such behavior, surely?”

  The second man shrugged, his voice fading away as Daniel strained to hear him. “But he was seen there,” the man answered. He laughed loudly. “Although why no one is questioning his behavior, I could not say!”

  The first gentleman laughed as well, before saying something more that Daniel could not hear.

  His mind began to fire with painful darts, his heart slamming into his chest as the chance to discover just who it was that was telling such lies faded from him. Groaning in irritation, he slammed his head back against the wall much harder than he had intended, sending a wave of pain coursing through his skull. His head began to ache furiously and he bent low, covering his head with his hands as he fell to his haunches, gritting his teeth against the pain.

  “I shall take what you took from me.”

  Daniel looked up, hearing those hissed words but being quite unable to make out the face of the gentleman who now stood over him. He was about to stand up when, out of nowhere, something came crashing into the side of his head. Falling to the floor in a crumpled heap, Daniel tried to look up, tried to speak through the haze of pain that now surrounded him, but found he could do neither. Shadows were slowly but surely blocking out the light from his eyes, his head screaming in torment.

  “You denied me and so I deny you,” said the low voice, filled with wrath. “You are undone, Lord Williamson.” This was accompanied by a sharp kick to Daniel’s stomach, which had him curling in pain, a groan escaping from him. The gentleman began to walk away, with Daniel trying to shout after him, but the darkness was becoming too great. It held him back, prevented him from speaking until, finally, it stole his consciousness completely.

  13

  “Miss Smallwood?”

  Louisa did not move an inch, although her back stiffened immediately. She continued to gaze out of the window, not reacting in the least to the arrival of Miss Martin.

  “Please, Miss Smallwood, might I just have a moment? It is of great importance, I assure you.”

  “I do not want to hear what you have to say, Miss Martin,” Louisa replied, her spirits lower than they had ever been before. “Were it not that my father was still abed, you would find yourself without employment any longer and be gone from this house.” She knew her words were cruel and cutting, but she did not care. In a way, she felt as though Miss Martin deserved them, for there was clearly a good deal that she was keeping from Louisa and Louisa knew quite certainly that she could not trust her companion in any way. Nothing made sense to her, but she did not want to try and understand it. She would resign herself to being the wife of Sir Walton, even though that would, most likely, break her spirits entirely. Gone was the newfound confidence in herself, the determination and the strength of spirit that Miss Grey had so encouraged within Louisa. There was nothing but sadness now.

  “Please, Miss Smallwood, I beg of you.” Miss Martin’s voice was filled with desperation and she practically flung herself at Louisa’s feet, making Louisa start with surprise. This was not the Miss Martin she knew. This was not the lady who had been so sharp and so direct with her, almost from the very start of their acquaintance. Why now did she seem so upset?

  “I did not tell you the truth about Lord Williamson, Miss Smallwood—Louisa,” Miss Martin began, sounding more and more desperate as she spoke. “I confess that I did so for my own ends, as a way to punish Lord Williamson. I believe he deserved it, but it was not until last evening, when I saw the look on your face as you heard Lord Montague tell you of the rumors, that I realized just how much you have come to care for him.” She pressed a hand to her eyes and drew in a ragged breath. “I believe I understand everything now.”

  Louisa drew in a sharp breath, her eyes widening as she stared at Miss Martin. “Do you mean to say that it has been you who has been treating Lord Williamson in such a cruel fashion?” she asked, one hand pressed against her thundering heart. “You have been spreading lies?”

  “No, no,” Miss Martin protested weakly. “No, I have not had anything to do with Lady Burton, nor the bet, nor even the stories that now meet our ears about his time in the bawdy house.” Wincing, she looked away, her skirts still billowed about her on the floor as she sat by Louisa’s feet. “I told you that Miss McBride was broken-hearted over Lord Williamson and that he had treated her ill. That was not the truth.”

  Louisa shook her head, her confusion growing all the more. “Then why did you say such a thing?” she asked sorrowfully. “Why did you try to push me from him?”

  Miss Martin closed her eyes, her throat working as if she were trying to hold back tears. “I wish to tell you everything, Miss Smallwood, but it would be best spoken of in front of Lord Williamson. You will have questions, I know, and he will be able to answer some better than I.”

  Louisa stared down at her companion, not understanding in the least anything that Miss Martin spoke of. It was evident now that Miss Martin and Lord Williamson had been previously acquainted, but what Miss Martin held against him, she had not even the slightest notion. It was clearly something that had caused her companion great anger and distress, but it was not a good enough reason to have told Louisa such lies about him.

  “He cares deeply for you, Louisa,” Miss Martin finished, slowly getting to her feet and brushing down her skirts. “I did not think that such a thing would be possible, but it seems that it is so. He wants to marry you, I believe.”

  Again, Louisa drew in a sharp breath, blinking rapidly as she looked up at Miss Martin’s pale face.

  “He regrets not speaki
ng to your father sooner,” Miss Martin continued, her head low and her voice dull. “I know that he will make you an excellent husband, Miss Smallwood, if you would only think of accepting him.”

  “How can I?” Louisa whispered, struggling to find her voice. “How can I when he is so covered with the lies and the rumors that all of the ton now speak of? My father will not stand for it.”

  “All will become clear, I am quite certain,” Miss Martin replied, finally looking back at Louisa and trying, it seemed, to smile. “He will be able to explain things to your father and I, too, shall do my part if it is required.”

  Louisa did not know what to say, for there was such a change in Miss Martin’s demeanor that she was quite overcome. Miss Martin was now dabbing tears from her eyes, her breathing ragged as she tried to regain some sense of composure. A slight pang of sympathy forced its way into Louisa’s heart, even though she did not want it there, did not want to feel any compassion for Miss Martin whatsoever, but it still lingered there regardless. Closing her eyes, Louisa leaned forward in her chair and pressed her hands to her eyes, her elbows resting on her knees. What was she to do? Either she could refuse to call upon Lord Williamson and, therefore, set herself towards her future with Sir Walton and all the sorrow that would bring, or she could attempt to find a little of her courage once more and go to speak to Lord Williamson, in the hope it would bring her some fresh understanding that might, in the end, bring a good deal of happiness with it.

  It was not a choice that she had any difficulty making.

  “Despite my reservations and my deep confusion, I shall go with you to call upon Lord Williamson,” she said slowly, seeing Miss Martin’s eyes flare wide. “I shall not speak to my father either, until this matter has been resolved.” An apology was on the tip of her tongue, but the words seemed to stick to her lips, forcing her to speak carefully. “And,” she added, forcing the words out, “I am sorry that I spoke harshly to you, Miss Martin.” The sentiment did not come easily to her, but she said it nonetheless, aware that in threatening to terminate Miss Martin’s employment and refuse her a decent reference, she had been overly harsh.