“Chester Farthingham, Baron Gant,” the viscount supplied.
“Yes. That is his name,” Liliah replied with animation. “Thank you. Now, do you have any opinion about who might be best suited for my sister?”
Miranda wanted to crawl into a hole. What had she been thinking, allowing her sister to ask such personal and humiliating questions of the viscount? She hadn’t been thinking, that was the problem. Yet it was so clear now, she should have seen this outcome; yet she was oblivious, all she could think was that he would not appreciate such an inquiry and, in that, it would display his affection for her.
But there was no affection displayed.
And he seemed to have no qualms about such an inquiry.
It was utterly insulting.
Who kissed a lady, then, the next day, plotted whom she should marry?
Were all the men in her life to be so easily dismissive of her?
It felt that way.
Her father.
The viscount.
One thing was for certain: She made a resolution at that very moment.
Whoever she married would not dismiss her so easily.
He’d . . . well, he’d fight for her.
He’d think she was important, vital, and necessary.
Not something to be pawned off, as her father had thought.
Not something to be used, as the viscount clearly had done.
No.
It would be more, it would be . . .everything.
Because in that moment, she knew what she wanted more than anything.
She wanted to be not only relevant but necessary.
Someone’s air, someone’s song, simply . . . more.
More than she had ever been to anyone.
Chapter Twenty
Heathcliff was quite certain he was in the seventh circle of hell. Because he was discussing the local eligible bachelors with the sister of the woman he’d, for all intents and purposes, compromised. Granted, the compromising wasn’t complete—pity, that—but it was enough.
Enough to remind him that he was an eligible bachelor.
Enough to tempt him to come up to scratch.
Enough to give him a reason to come up with all the worst character traits in the gentlemen Mrs. Keyes mentioned.
There was no reason he should help his competition.
Not that he was considering them competition.
That would mean he was considering himself as an option—which he wasn’t. No, he may be tempted, but temptation never required action.
As much as many thought the opposite.
Damn, the gambling hell made its market on that very idea.
But he knew better. Or, at least, he thought he knew better. He was growing less confident each moment that passed.
“A lady should aim higher than an untitled gentleman, unless he is of the most impeccable character,” Lady Liliah emphasized, tilting her head as she regarded him. “What exactly do you know about him?”
Heathcliff suppressed his groan of frustration and thought about the man in question. He was young, with enough land to make him respectable in that aspect. It wasn’t common knowledge, but the gentleman had inquired about purchasing a title, which made Heathcliff think he was seeking social promotion. A marriage to a duke’s daughter would certainly be something he’d find tempting.
Damn, there was that word again.
He cleared his throat. “I have reason to believe he is in search of a way to climb the social ladder, as it were.”
“Oh.” Liliah frowned slightly.
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing. Aren’t most men in search of the same thing? It doesn’t necessarily mean his character is flawed,” Lucas interjected; not helpfully, in Heathcliff’s opinion.
“True. I can see that point,” she conceded. “We’ll keep him on the list.” Lady Liliah turned to her sister, and Heathcliff did his very best not to follow her gaze. “Are you in favor of meeting him?”
Heathcliff lifted his teacup, thankful for the distraction it offered, even as he listened intently to her answer.
“Yes. Keep him on the list. I’m not going to disregard a man because he is ambitious. There are worse things,” she murmured the last part.
And he wondered if perhaps the words were directed at him.
But no, he hadn’t indicated anything to her other than a few stolen moments of pleasure. There had been no promises, no talk of commitment. It was simply . . . he had to think about the word that would define the description . . . he failed at fitting the sensations he felt into one simple word. It was too much, yet not ready to be defined at the same time, and confusing as hell.
“Now, then, next on the list is Lord Marrion,” Liliah continued doggedly.
Certainly there was somewhere he needed to be, anywhere, really.
But if he left now, they would ask why. After all, he was the only one who knew the men in question, aside from his housekeeper, that is.
“Yes?” he asked, taking another small sip of tea. He wasn’t thirsty, just desperate for something to do.
Lady Liliah gave a little impatient huff. “What do you have to say about his character?”
Heathcliff considered the man reluctantly. He was a wealthy earl who spent most of his time on his estate near Edinburgh. Heathcliff searched his memory for some flaw, something that would eliminate him from the list of eligible gentlemen, but could think of nothing.
Not a damn thing.
Blast it all.
“Viscount Kilpatrick?” Liliah asked when he didn’t answer quickly enough.
He waited a moment, hoping some sordid secret would reveal itself from his memory, but there was still nothing. “I can’t think of anything that would strike him from the list,” he remarked, not mentioning he actually had several good qualities to recommend him. In fact, they had spent time at Eton together, and he considered the gentleman a friend.
At least he had.
He was seriously questioning his friendships at the moment; he cast a wary glance at Lucas, who was grinning just over his teacup.
If there were no ladies present, Heathcliff would have made a few choice remarks to his friend and then offered to wipe the smirk off his face with a roundhouse punch. But he had to tamp down his rather heathen inclinations and lifted his teacup again.
It was almost empty, and he asked Lady Liliah, who had poured before, to refill it.
She willingly refreshed his cup, and then continued with the same conversational topic. “That is good to know. Now, finally the baron.” She gestured widely, as if presenting a grand topic, not one that was tedious at best.
“Disregard him,” Heathcliff took a sip of tea.
“Very well, why?” Liliah asked.
“Yes, why?” Lucas leaned forward, clearly enjoying himself in the middle of Heathcliff’s struggle.
Truth be told, he didn’t have a ready answer, so he simply shrugged and used the most common and widely acceptable answer. “He’s a fortune hunter.”
“Truly?” Lady Liliah tipped down her chin. “I’d think he’d find better luck at such an endeavor in London.”
“Indeed,” Lucas chimed in, earning a glare from Heathcliff.
“He isn’t one for Town, and since he doesn’t have the connections to gain him access to the parties where he may have the most luck, he chooses to remain local. While there aren’t as many titled ladies, there are quite a few with respectable dowries,” he finished, then took a sip of tea, using the motion to close his argument, hoping it would suffice.
“I see. That is unfortunate. I’d rather have more than two eligible gentlemen on the list.” Lady Liliah bit her lip.
“Two is more than enough.” Miranda spoke up. “Truly, all we need is one. Rather, all I need is one, if it is the right one, you see.”
The right one; the idea filtered through him, condemning him and challenging him all at once.
He could be the right one, if he wanted to be.
But he didn
’t. Not really.
Or at least, not enough to brave such a risk, which could create such a possible failure.
Because what if he failed? What if he was a horrible husband? What would that do to his friendship with Lucas, with his business partnership? So much hinged on success that he wasn’t willing to entertain the idea of it. Better to step back, allow things to take their natural course, and maintain the current flow of things.
It was safer.
Deep within, he knew it was the coward’s way out. And he hated that he was being so gutless.
“Miranda, you suggested a week from today for the party. Viscount Kilpatrick, do you think we can make that a possibility? We do not want to overtax your staff. And I should inform you that we made a slight adjustment to the plans. First, I think we should host the masquerade so that my sister can observe the gentlemen in question, and perhaps add other names to the list, and then, after she’s been introduced, we host the house party. I do believe you’ll find such an arrangement makes more sense. Now, what of your staff?” Lady Liliah inquired kindly.
“They will likely cheer when you break the news. I’m afraid I’m rather dull. And I have no objections to your amended plans.” At least no objections he could voice without creating a problem and a solution all at one fell swoop. Rather, he distracted himself by her question concerning the staff. He hated how true his response was, but when in Scotland, he simply blended into the scenery. It kept the talk down, so history was spoken about less often.
“Wonderful! If you’ll excuse me, I’ll seek out Mrs. Keyes and get the plans in motion.” Lady Liliah stood. “Sam—Miranda, would you accompany me? Because this event is about you, it is vital to have your input on all the details.” Lady Liliah had the posture of a doting mother, exuberant about the upcoming debut of her protégé. It was almost comical, but also rather endearing.
As the ladies quit the room, Heathcliff took another sip of his blasted tea and awaited Lucas’s verbal assault.
But no words were forthcoming. He hazarded a glance at his friend.
Lucas was watching him with that expression again, the one that saw too much, that knew too much. “Don’t fold too late.”
He repeated his earlier comment, rose, and then quit the room as well, leaving Heathcliff alone.
Odd how he’d wished to be alone twenty minutes earlier, and now that he’d gotten his wish, he resented ever thinking it.
Alone was another way to say being lonely, and for the first time in a long time, he realized it described him aptly.
Alone.
Lonely.
And he had the dangerous inclination to maybe, just maybe, do something to change that.
Chapter Twenty-one
Miranda tucked her hair behind her ear as she adjusted her hat in the windy Scottish air. After her sister had discussed the details about the masquerade with Mrs. Keyes, she had announced that she, Miranda, and Miss Iris would be leaving for town—Edinburgh to be exact. The carriage had been readied, Iris had been summoned, and dresses had been changed to be acceptable for the outing. Lord Heightfield had announced that he would be accompanying them, and after a pointed look to the viscount, who had the poor luck of entering the foyer at that moment, a fifth member to the party was added.
So it was, less than thirty minutes later, that Miranda found herself opposite her sister and Iris, while the gentlemen rode behind the carriage, enjoying the fine sunshine.
“I’m quite relieved that Lucas and Viscount Kilpatrick wished to attend us. I’m not terribly sure where to go in Edinburgh. I’ve heard Princes’ Street is the place to shop, but I’m not entirely sure,” Liliah mentioned.
“Surely a footman would have known, or Mrs. Keyes. She seems to know everything else,” Iris mused.
Miranda agreed. Mrs. Keyes did seem to be a wealth of information.
“Be that as it may, it’s much better to be accompanied by gentlemen on our first outing. After this one, I’d think we would be fine on our own,” Liliah remarked.
The carriage shifted slightly as they traversed from the courtyard to the open road toward Edinburgh.
“I’ve never been to the city,” Miranda said, eager expectation filling her. It seemed like an age since she’d been shopping with her sister, a lifetime ago.
“We’ve only recently arrived, and I haven’t had the pleasure either. I’m glad we are doing it together. It seems apt, does it not?” Liliah asked, offering her sister a small smile.
“Yes. It does,” Miranda affirmed.
“And I’m thankful to be out of the estate. I was growing rather impatient with the confines,” Iris replied. “I’m quite accustomed to movement from place to place. I can’t remember the last time I stayed in residence for more than a week.”
“Truly?” Liliah asked, turning to her.
“Yes. My parents were very serious travelers,” Iris added somberly.
Miranda offered her a kind and sympathetic smile. She still missed her parents dreadfully.
“Well, we shall have to take you out and about more often. There is much to offer in Edinburgh, or at least that’s what I’ve been told,” Liliah mused. “I shall love to see the castle, and possibly Holyrood House as well. Bonnie Prince Charlie stayed there once, though I don’t think the Regent has any plans to visit.”
“Holyrood House?” Miranda echoed.
“I’m told it’s quite stately.”
“That may be interesting,” Iris agreed. “Do you think we will be able to see the castle from the carriage? It’s on a hill, is it not?”
Miranda turned to her sister. Geography never was her best subject. But she had adored math, which only reminded her of her earlier musings regarding addition and kisses.
Blast it all.
Her sister was answering Iris’s question, and she turned toward her, eager for distraction. “Yes. I believe so. It’s built from the stone of the mountain, and I wouldn’t be surprised if we could see it quite soon,” Liliah angled herself so she could look out the carriage window.
Miranda and Iris followed suit.
“There, see that hill? On the top, I believe that’s it.” Liliah pointed and Miranda squinted.
“I see,” she murmured. “Quite fascinating. How old is it?”
“It was built in the twelfth century,” Iris answered. “My parents loved history.”
Liliah turned to Iris, giving her a kind smile. “I see my sister doesn’t need to further your historical education.”
Miranda gave a wry smile. “No, I rather think she could educate me in some subjects. I’m helpful in other ways.”
Iris winced. “I’m afraid I’m not as accomplished in other areas.”
“You’ll get there,” Liliah affirmed, then turned her gaze back to the window.
Thankfully, the New Town of Edinburgh wasn’t more than a forty-minute carriage ride away. As they drew closer, Miranda studied the scenery. Gothic buildings rose amongst the newer additions of New Town, built to draw in the English nobility who preferred their London residences to their Scottish ones. Edinburgh Castle grew large and mammoth as a sentinel over the city, the newer and older areas.
“Oh, I know that! I read about it in the Times.” Liliah pointed. “It’s the Nelson Monument. They’ve been working on construction but I think we can at least see part of it. Its something about paying homage to the victory at the Battle of Trafalgar.”
Miranda studied the cylinderlike structure. “It’s a telescope,” she murmured, remembering the article.
“Yes. It was crafted to replicate his telescope,” Liliah acknowledged. As they passed the stone structure, Miranda glanced to the other carriage window, watching as they passed a domed structure and, if she craned her neck ever so slightly, some body of water that was a shade of blue amidst the constant stone shade of the buildings.
“We will also see the Prince’s Street Gardens, and the Register house. It’s a rather interesting building, or so I’ve read,” Iris remarked.
&n
bsp; Miranda nodded in response. “It’s quite impressive. I must say, I was expecting something less civilized than London. I’m not sure why. This is actually quite comparable.”
Liliah nodded. “Indeed. Ah that’s the gardens! I’m sure it’s lovely this time of year.” She sighed happily. “I miss Hyde Park.”
Miranda agreed. It was a lovely thing, to take an afternoon stroll through Hyde Park, see friends and acquaintances and simply amble about. Not that she couldn’t take various rambles at Kilmarin, but it was different, less familiar. And that was a something she missed: the familiar.
The carriage slowed as they pulled up beside a long row of shops. Miranda read their signs: Edinburgh Haberdashery, Tobacconist, Mrs. Penniworth’s Shop of Lace and Frilly Things, Mrs. Anne’s, and several others. Her sister waited, and soon Lord Heightfield opened the carriage door, offering his hand to her.
After she alighted from the carriage, Iris followed suit, taking the viscount’s offered hand, and then it was Miranda’s turn. The viscount released Iris, then turned to her.
Extending his hand, his eyes met hers. Heat flooded her, and she could no more deny her attraction than she could deny herself breath. But it was for naught. He didn’t want her; that much was clear. She glanced at his hand. It was a warm hand, one she loved to feel wrapped around hers. She swallowed and steeled herself against the sensations that would surely course through her once she touched him.
Her fingers tingled, then her arm as he tightened his grasp on her hand, supporting her weight as she stepped into the sunshine. “Thank you,” she murmured, relaxing her fingers, giving him a signal to release her hand.
But he did not. He firmed his grasp.
She glanced up, meeting his gaze, expecting—something.
“There is a slight step up.” He motioned with his chin to the cobblestone below.
Her heart pinched with hope denied, and she hadn’t even realized she’d allowed herself to expect anything. But hope was heartless and rarely asked for permission to exist, even where it wasn’t wanted or welcome.
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