“If you will allow me, I will tell you what happened.” Her breath was coming fast. Calm down, Leorah. Don’t let Father make you angry. He treats everyone this way. She attempted to take a deep breath but couldn’t quite squeeze it in.
“I was out riding, and Buccaneer threw me. I broke my wrist—thank you for your concern—as you see.” She held up her splinted arm. “Lord Withinghall stopped his carriage, as he happened to be driving by, and offered to take me to Glyncove Abbey. On the way, the carriage broke apart, and the horses were separated from the carriage and ran off. The carriage rolled down the hill and overturned, and Lord Withinghall broke his leg. I was unable to catch the horses, and it started to rain. We both fell asleep while waiting for someone to happen along. It was not even midnight when Mr. Moss and Mr. Pinegar discovered us.”
“Hmph. Why didn’t the viscount catch the horses?”
“I told you, Father. His leg was broken.”
“Never mind. I once marched two miles on a broken leg.”
Leorah expelled a noisy breath. “Not everyone’s break is the same. Lord Withinghall was unable to walk.”
“Is it true he proposed marriage to you?”
“Yes.”
“And you refused him.”
“I did.”
“Well, you can go and accept him. He has ruined your reputation, and if he is any gentleman and wishes to preserve his influence in Parliament and rise to become the next Prime Minister and First Lord of the Treasury, then he will marry you.”
Her breath was shallower than ever. “I will not marry him.”
“Why not?” His voice was so loud it seemed to rattle the windowpanes.
“I do not love him, and he does not love me.”
“No one cares about such mishmash.” He swore, his face flushing red. “The man is a viscount, and he knows his duty. And now it’s time you learned yours.”
“And what do you mean by that?”
“I mean that you shall marry Lord Withinghall and stop this nonsense. It was a perfectly good proposal, made in front of several witnesses. There is no reason you should not accept it.”
“The fact that I do not love him, that he does not love me, is not reason enough?”
“It certainly is not!”
“Do you think that I will accept the kind of cold, loveless marriage that you and Mother have? No. I won’t. You can beat me and cast me out, but I will never accept that. Never.”
Leorah’s hands were shaking.
“Nonsense! Utter nonsense you speak, girl. No one’s ever beaten you a day in your life, though it may well have done you good if I had. If you were any other girl in the world”—he started shaking his finger at her—“you’d leap at the chance to marry the viscount. He’s young and well respected and rich. What more could you want? Utter nonsense.”
“Do you deny that you and Mother have a cold, loveless marriage?”
His face turned redder. “You are impertinent. Your mother and I are perfectly content. And that has nothing to do with the fact that you will lower your family if you refuse to marry Lord Withinghall.”
Leorah wanted to scream at her father, to stomp her foot and rail at his insensitivity. But if she spoke even one more word, the threatening tears would surely spill out. Instead of venting her emotions on him, she turned to flee from the room.
She yanked the door open and rushed into the hallway, stopping short as she nearly collided with someone’s chest.
Lord Withinghall steadied her with a hand on her shoulder as he gripped his cane in his other.
How much of their conversation had he heard? She avoided looking at him and broke away, hurrying down the hallway as tears ran down her cheeks.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Edward stepped into the study as Mr. Langdon turned toward him, his eyes widening.
“Lord Withinghall.” He bowed formally. “How good of you to accept our invitation.”
“Mr. Langdon. I could not help overhearing your . . . conversation with your daughter.”
“Yes, well, she is a good girl . . .” He seemed not to know what to say next, his brows drawing together. “A girl’s reputation is her most precious asset. Would you not agree?”
“Only superseded by her character, I imagine.”
“Yes, yes. And you are willing to marry her? She has twenty thousand pounds coming to her husband.”
“I have offered to marry her and was quite willing, but she refused me.”
“She can be brought to reason.”
“Are you suggesting that she be forced to marry me against her will? For I am not willing to participate in any such scheme. Your daughter has refused me, and that is the end of it, sir.”
Mr. Langdon’s face colored a bit. He stammered, then said, “Of course, my lord. Allow me to offer my apologies for her refusal. She is a rather obstinate, opinionated sort of girl.”
“There is no need. Now I have business to attend to. Good day, sir.”
He left the room. A growl still hovered in his throat at the way the man had spoken to his daughter. Perhaps Edward should have defended Leorah more, should have said she was not an obstinate, opinionated girl and that the man should not say such things about her. But hadn’t Edward said the very same things about her and more? A pang of guilt stabbed his stomach.
Where might Miss Langdon have gone?
He should not seek her out. It was dangerous to associate with her at all—as he had proven.
Still, her father had spoken unjustly to her, and she had been very upset. He would simply see where she had gone and send someone after her if she needed assistance. Quite possibly he would not be able to find her anyway.
He went out the back door that led into the gardens. He did not see her anywhere amongst the shrubbery, so he turned toward the stables. It was a pleasant morning, after all. Why should he not walk toward the stables?
No one was in or near the stable yard, so he went inside. He stood near the open door, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. All was calm and hushed. A horse was snuffling, but there were no other sounds. Perhaps his assumption that Miss Langdon would come to the stable had been incorrect. He took a few more steps inside and looked down the long row of stalls. Toward the middle of the row, Miss Langdon stood with her arms around a big chestnut-brown horse, her cheek pressed against the horse’s neck.
Edward stepped back quickly so she would not see him.
He could hear her sniffing, and then a watery voice said, “Father cares not a whit for what I want. He would force me to marry someone who despised me if it raised my position—his position.” A muffled sob followed these words.
His heart clenched, twisting painfully inside his chest. The very idea that anyone could make the bold and fearless Miss Langdon cry . . . He closed his eyes and shook his head.
Someone should comfort her, should hold her and let her cry on their shoulder while they said kind things to her. But he did not imagine Miss Langdon would appreciate any such gesture from him. She had not even looked him in the eye when she ran into him in the hall, would probably hate him for having overheard what her father had said to her.
She had made it quite clear to her father that she would never marry him.
“He doesn’t care,” she went on, talking to her horse, “doesn’t care that I would be utterly miserable in a cold, loveless marriage.”
The words stung his chest, sending a lump into his throat.
“He wants me to feel as unloved as he has made Mother feel. If I didn’t have this stupid broken wrist, we could ride away from here.” She sniffed loudly. “It hurts so much that Father doesn’t understand, doesn’t care. But I will not let him or anyone else browbeat me into marrying someone who doesn’t love me. I would rather die,” she whispered hoarsely. “No matter what Father says, only the most passionate love will ever induce me to marry.”
Her fervency made Edward’s heart skip a beat.
It was as if he felt her pain as his own,
the same pain he had felt many years before—and often since, though he had never confessed it to anyone. And now he understood even more clearly why she’d refused to marry him. It was not just that she disliked him, as he had supposed. She was afraid of ending up in a marriage like her parents’ and of being unloved.
His mind took him back to the moment when he had learned that his father had been killed in a duel. The pain of the loss of his father, the way he had died, and how that would affect his mother. Perhaps worst of all was the pain of feeling as if he had not been loved by his father, for if his father had loved him, he never would have dallied with the married woman whose husband had then challenged him to a duel and shot him.
But what was he doing here, dwelling on the past? He should not be standing there listening to a lady’s private conversation, even if it was with a horse.
He turned and limped away as quickly and quietly as possible, careful not to bang his cane on the hard-packed ground. He turned into the garden and hobbled down a path between two tall hedges that hid him from view of the stable.
He’d been sitting in the library across the hall from Mr. Langdon’s study when he had overheard their argument. He’d felt protective of her, something akin to the feeling he got when Nicholas Langdon and John Wilson told him stories about the children they had rescued from terrible circumstances. But no. This feeling for Miss Langdon was different.
Well, it certainly was not anything he should dwell on. For heaven’s sake, if he did not know better, he might have said he was nearly in love with the girl. Certainly he could imagine loving her if she had married him, had determined that he would love whomever he married. But marriage to Miss Langdon could not be. He intended to marry Miss Augusta Norbury. She was a much more suitable wife for a politician such as himself, being a steady, quiet, complacent girl. Wasn’t that what he needed?
When had good sense deserted him? Never, and it would not desert him now. He was not his father’s son, prone to illicit affairs and foolish, indiscreet passions. He would forget about Miss Langdon, force her from his mind once and for all, and then he would marry Miss Norbury.
That evening the servants, including the several that had come with the guests, were scrambling to get everything and everyone ready for the ball. There was to be music and dancing until the small hours of the next morning. Even Leorah was fluttering around in a new dress, hurrying to her mother’s room to borrow her jewelry, then to Felicity and Elizabeth’s room to make sure they had everything they needed, and back to her own room to fetch a ribbon that would perfectly match Felicity’s gown.
Finally, they were ready, and Leorah went down arm in arm with Felicity and Elizabeth.
At the bottom of the stairs stood Lord Withinghall in conversation with Nicholas. Leorah had nearly forgotten the earlier incident when she had run into Lord Withinghall after having words with her father. How much had the viscount heard? It tortured her that he should know how little her father cared about her, how her father still wanted to force her to marry Lord Withinghall, even after she had refused him in front of witnesses.
Why it should bother her so much, she was not sure. She was not in love with him, after all, and she no longer hated him as she once had. She should feel only indifference.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, the two men turned to them and bowed, as the ladies curtsied to the viscount. They engaged in the usual inane chatter common at such parties, and Leorah was careful to give no hint of embarrassment or awareness of their earlier run-in. Lord Withinghall did the same.
The viscount wore a dark-green coat and waistcoat with buff-colored breeches and fashionable top boots. His neckcloth was also arranged in a very fashionable knot, and his hair was well styled and becoming.
Felicity squeezed her arm, and Leorah could imagine what she was thinking: Lord Withinghall looked handsome and much more fashionable. This was further proof of the transformation his new valet had made in the viscount’s appearance.
Already the musicians were beginning to play. Soon Lord Withinghall could begin to show interest in Miss Norbury and make it obvious he was courting her, and then announce their engagement. The goal of the party would be accomplished, and everyone could stop warning Leorah that people were gossiping about her and Lord Withinghall. And Lord Withinghall could live coldly ever after with his perfect politician’s wife.
They all moved into the ballroom as gentlemen approached the ladies and asked for a dance.
Leorah glanced around as a young man asked Felicity to dance the first dance. Before she could wish for a dance partner for herself, that audaciously handsome Mr. Geoffrey Hastings was striding toward her, a smile on his lips.
“Miss Langdon. I would be honored if you would be my dance partner for the first two dances.”
Soon she was on the dance floor facing the man. What was it that made him so handsome? His clothing was the height of fashion, and his light-brown locks reminded her of her baby niece, Marianne, whose hair was the exact same color. He smiled more than other men, showing off perfect white teeth. How refreshing, in a world of uptight, self-important men and women who seemed to think their faces would break if they dared to show joy or amusement.
She couldn’t help smiling back.
Perhaps this party would not be so bad after all.
Edward was not dancing, of course, because of his injured leg, but after Miss Norbury stood and talked with him for the first dance, she was dancing the second with an older married man. She looked lovely, and very sedate and proper, as usual. In another two or three days, he would ask her guardian, Mrs. Culpepper, to allow him to have a private word with her, and he would propose marriage. If she accepted him, he would request her guardian’s permission, they would discuss the terms and then publish the banns.
He could be married in less than six weeks.
No one joined him where he stood, so he was able to let his thoughts flow to what he would need to do tomorrow—he was meeting with the sheriff, Mr. Yarbrough, to discuss what he had discovered from his inquiries about who might have tampered with his carriage.
There was Pinegar himself, skulking in the corner and watching Miss Langdon dance for the second time with Geoffrey Hastings. Who was this Mr. Hastings? Had Nicholas Langdon made sure to properly acquaint himself with the man before allowing his sister to dance with him? He smiled entirely too much, and why was he singling out Miss Langdon for the first two dances?
He turned his attention back to Miss Norbury, who had a slight frown on her face as she walked toward him. He did not want to give offense and vowed not to pay any more attention to Miss Langdon or her dance partners.
Mr. Geoffrey Hastings was undeniably a very good dancer, and his smile was infectious. The cleft in his chin gave him a rakish look, while his brown eyes were soft and warm. But there was something slightly less formal about him, as if he had not always associated with such elegant society.
After dancing the first two dances with him and promising to dance with him again later, Leorah rejoined Felicity where she stood near Leorah’s mother.
Felicity raised her brows at her. “The handsome Mr. Hastings is singling you out.”
“It would be helpful to know what was his income and situation in life, for he was being very flirtatious with me—like a man who wants my twenty thousand pounds.”
“Oh, Leorah, you are too cynical. He probably just thought you were beautiful and that he could easily fall in love with you.”
“You must agree that he does not know me well enough to have fallen in love.”
“Perhaps, but should you not leave yourself open to the possibility that he genuinely likes you?”
“Don’t sport with my vanity, Felicity.”
“You are incorrigible. But I refuse to let your cynicism dissuade me from having romantic thoughts about this. Let me imagine that he is enchanted with you, not your twenty thousand pounds.”
“Aren’t you the one who tried to persuade Julia that Mr. Hugh
Edgerton was truly in love with her?”
“Oh, Leorah, that’s not fair. He seemed so very sincere. Besides, I only told her she should dance with him, not marry him. Have you noticed how Lord Withinghall is spending all his time with Miss Norbury?”
Leorah turned toward Felicity’s line of vision. Lord Withinghall and Miss Norbury were facing each other in an exclusive way. What were they saying? Was Miss Norbury as uninteresting when she talked to Lord Withinghall as she was when Leorah talked to her?
“I just don’t think they suit each other,” Felicity said quietly.
“Why not? They are both so serious and severe.” But Leorah’s stomach twisted at the thought of them getting married. Felicity was right. They did not suit. Augusta Norbury seemed cold and unfeeling, and Lord Withinghall . . . Hadn’t she always said Lord Withinghall was also cold and unfeeling?
“Do you ever feel a bit sorry you refused his offer of marriage?” Felicity whispered.
“No, I do not.”
“No, I don’t suppose you would. You have twenty thousand pounds.”
“You would not marry him, would you?”
“Well, I do not have twenty thousand, or even a thousand pounds.” She was silent a moment, twisting her head to the side as though thinking. “Truthfully, I would marry him, especially since he has begun dressing so much more fashionably.”
Leorah laughed. “You know you are in jest.”
Felicity gave a half frown. “Perhaps. But he is more appealing now than when we were in London, when he glowered so angrily at us for calling him a pirate.”
Leorah did not want to admit it, but he was more appealing. Though his new appeal had less to do with his newfound fashion sense than it did with her having a better understanding of the man himself.
“You would not marry someone you did not love, would you, Felicity?”
“Perhaps not, but it would be easy to convince myself I was in love if the man was a viscount and rich besides.”