A Viscount's Proposal Page 24

  But the ball was continuing. Ladies were dancing with young men, and the musicians were playing as skillfully as ever. Felicity had already stood up with more than one partner. Leorah finally wandered closer to the dance floor.

  One matron bumped Leorah’s elbow and said, “I heard what Lord Withinghall said.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You know what I mean.” The elderly lady smirked. Her name was Mrs. Hatton, or Hathaway, or something like that.

  “I am not sure I do.”

  “He said he was in love with Miss Langdon. That is you, is it not?”

  “You have very good hearing, Mrs. . . .”

  “Herringshaw. Mrs. Phineas Herringshaw. And I pride myself I do. I hope you will remember me when you are Lady Withinghall.” She winked.

  Leorah quickly excused herself and moved to Felicity’s side. “I wish this night could be over.”

  “What is wrong? All is well, is it not?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Lord Withinghall has exposed Mr. Pinegar—or rather, Mr. Pinegar has exposed himself—as the would-be murderer and evil person that he is, and now Lord Withinghall will be safe. Pinegar would be a fool to try to harm him now.”

  “That is true, I suppose.” But how was Lord Withinghall feeling after hearing all over again what his father had done and how much Pinegar hated him for it? Even if it were a knife to his heart, he could never show it. Society did not allow such things.

  “Is something wrong, Leorah?”

  “No, no.”

  “Come. Let us dance. There are several suitable partners.”

  Soon two young men approached and asked them both to dance. They accepted and followed them onto the dance floor when the music started.

  While she was dancing, Lord Withinghall walked out of the card room and stood at the other end of the ballroom.

  Her stomach sank. How she wanted this dance to be over. She could not be rude to her partner. Meanwhile, one person after another approached Lord Withinghall, wanting to talk to him.

  By the time the dance was over, he was surrounded by three or four ladies. One lady at his side was Miss Norbury, who had been dancing with Mr. Geoffrey Hastings earlier, before the hullabaloo. He glanced around until his eye met Leorah’s.

  He seemed to be excusing himself from the women and broke away, heading in her direction.

  “Miss Langdon.”

  “Lord Withinghall.”

  “I must speak with you. Do you think I might call on you tomorrow morning?”

  “Of course. I hope you were not too troubled by that horrible man earlier this evening. At least everyone shall hear of his abominable conduct.” She sounded so breathless. Could she blame it on the dancing?

  “I am well, I thank you. It is a regrettable fact that he has attached so much hatred to me and to my name.”

  “But you have acquitted yourself as a gentleman and with as much good grace as anyone ever could.”

  “Thank you, Miss Langdon. Your good opinion is more welcome to me than you know.”

  Lord Blakeney stood just to Leorah’s left, pretending not to listen.

  “I believe it was in this very room,” Lord Withinghall said with a slight smile lifting the corners of his lips, “when we met many months ago. You and Miss Mayson did not know I was listening when you compared me in great detail to a pirate. Do you remember?”

  “How could I forget? We had no notion that you might be listening to us. How ridiculous we must have seemed.”

  “I was rather embarrassed, since Mr. Colthurst had also heard, but after I thought about it, I was more astounded than offended.”

  “Astounded?”

  “Yes. You asked me if insulting gentlemen’s daughters was the fashion amongst viscounts, or some new political strategy.”

  “Oh dear. Did I really say that?”

  “You did.”

  “But as I recall, you called me a reckless, thoughtless girl who ruined more reputations than her own. As it turned out . . . that was not too far off the mark.”

  “It was off the mark and very ungentlemanly of me. Most unbecoming and untrue. You are neither reckless nor thoughtless.”

  “I do sometimes behave unconventionally, and I can be impulsive.”

  “But those things are not, in and of themselves . . . unappealing.”

  Her heart beat faster. “At one time you seemed to think them unappealing.”

  “It has been many months since I found anything unappealing about you, Miss Langdon.”

  Her heart jumped into her throat. “Did I change so much?”

  “Your heart and spirit are as beautiful as ever. It was I who changed.”

  “You did?”

  “I have learned to appreciate people who don’t always follow society’s rules, people who don’t concern themselves with appearances. One person in particular.”

  “Lord Withinghall!” a man called from several feet away.

  He sighed. “Forgive me,” he said. “I must go and speak to this man. But . . . I shall see you in the morning?”

  “Yes. I shall be home. A-at the Maysons’ home.”

  “Of course. Good night.” He turned and walked away.

  Of course he knew she meant the Maysons’ home. Oh, why was her heart beating fast, and why was she so short of breath? She was becoming giddy. She had never felt this way . . . except sometimes when she was going home to Glyncove Abbey after a long absence and was anticipating seeing Bucky again. Oh my. What was it she used to say?

  I could never imagine loving any man as much as I love my Bucky.

  Perhaps she could imagine it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Leorah, Felicity, and Felicity’s family arrived home late from the ball. Leorah slept longer than she intended to the next morning, so when she awoke and saw the sun shining behind the curtains, she dressed quickly and hurried downstairs.

  No one else seemed to be up yet. What if Lord Withinghall came calling now? Felicity might even be staying in her room for the purpose of allowing Lord Withinghall to speak privately with Leorah.

  “Oh dear.” Her heart was pounding. Was it from fear? Surely not. She had made a point of never being afraid of anything or anyone. But lately, every time she thought about Lord Withinghall or saw him coming toward her, her heart or her stomach or her breathing did something strange.

  A sound rose from the ground floor of the house, like someone at the door. She gripped the stair railing and listened. A female voice mingled with a male one. Was that her mother? And her father?

  Felicity opened her door and looked out.

  “Come down,” Leorah called. “My parents are here.”

  Leorah ran down to greet them. Her mother embraced her, and the servant went to fetch some tea.

  “And bring some pastries and cheese,” her father said, his voice overloud.

  “I am very surprised to see you so early in the Season,” Leorah said, seating herself beside her mother.

  “We are only early by a week or two. But I wanted to tell you about Julia and Nicholas’s baby. A beautiful baby girl. They named her Jane, and she is perfectly healthy.”

  “And Julia?”

  “She is well. All is well, and I wanted to come and let you know.”

  “Nicholas could have written to me.”

  “I wanted to be the one to tell you.”

  Leorah smiled and embraced her mother. “It is wonderful news. I can hardly wait to hold my new little niece.”

  Her father was out in the hall, still speaking to the servant, when Mrs. Mayson’s voice came from the stairs.

  “Come and have breakfast with us. I insist.”

  So they all ended up in the breakfast room seated together and eating heartily—Mr. and Mrs. Mayson, Felicity, Elizabeth, two of Felicity’s brothers, Mother, Father, and Leorah.

  Leorah ate quickly. Would Lord Withinghall call while they were still eating? If so, would he leave without seeing her?

 
As soon as Leorah was satisfied that they had all finished eating, she said, “Shall we adjourn to the sitting room?”

  Mother sent her a look of mild reprimand.

  “Before we go,” Father said, “I want to hear Mr. and Mrs. Mayson’s view about this business with Lord Withinghall.”

  Leorah stopped the groan that rose into her throat.

  “Yes,” Mother said, “with the things we’ve been reading in the paper, we do not think he should be calling on Leorah.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Mayson looked at each other. Leorah bit her tongue to keep from speaking.

  “I know the things that have been printed about him seem very damning,” Mrs. Mayson said, “but I believe there will be something in today’s newspapers that will clear up any misunderstandings about Lord Withinghall’s character.”

  Father thundered, “What the devil do you mean? He took a young woman and her baby to live in his house in Suffolk.”

  Mr. Mayson, who had been in the card room when Lord Withinghall had confronted Mr. Pinegar, filled him in on everything Pinegar had said, including the fact that the woman everyone had assumed was Lord Withinghall’s courtesan was actually Pinegar’s.

  “Well, now, that changes things. But I still don’t understand why he of all people should rescue Pinegar’s former courtesan from the workhouse.”

  “May we please go to the sitting room now?” Leorah whispered to Felicity.

  “Mother, may we not take our guests to the sitting room?” Felicity asked.

  “Oh yes, of course.”

  They all made their way down the stairs. By the restless way her father was glancing all around, Leorah knew he was about to suggest they leave to go to their own town house.

  Suddenly, the servant announced Lord Withinghall and showed him in.

  Father’s eyes lit up at the sight of the viscount, but Lord Withinghall’s expression was unreadable. No doubt he had not been expecting such a crowd of people. Leorah considered ordering everyone out of the room besides Lord Withinghall, but even she was not that bold and unmannerly.

  They all sat down, taking up nearly every available seat in the room. Father dominated Lord Withinghall’s attention, while Mother talked with Mrs. Mayson. Felicity kept glancing nervously from Leorah to Lord Withinghall and back again. Then somehow the conversation turned to politics, and everyone was listening to Lord Withinghall speak of his education bill.

  What kind of man—a wealthy, titled man—concerned himself with the education of poor children? A man who admired a woman like Hannah More and gave generously to a charity like the Children’s Aid Mission? And yet, when Leorah had first encountered him, she’d thought him stuffy and uptight and . . . awful. She had always prided herself on being a person who either liked someone or disliked them, someone who did not have complicated feelings. Well, her feelings had grown complicated, but now she was simply convinced her first impressions of Lord Withinghall had been completely wrong.

  He had been there for twenty minutes when he suddenly said, “I must go. The House is sitting this afternoon, and I must be there.”

  Leorah’s stomach sank. She would not be able to speak to him alone and hear what he had to say.

  He was shaking her father’s hand, and her mother was saying that they must go as well.

  “Leorah, come with us. We can send a servant later for your things.”

  “I will see you out,” Lord Withinghall said.

  Leorah quickly turned to Felicity. “Thank you for a wonderful visit.”

  Felicity whispered, “Come to me if something happens.”

  Leorah expressed her gratitude to Mr. and Mrs. Mayson, then faced the door, where Lord Withinghall stood waiting for her. There was an anxious look in his blue eyes. Her parents had already left the room. Lord Withinghall entered the hall just in front of her. He pulled something from his pocket, then turned and pressed it into her hand.

  She held the folded square of paper against her skirts.

  They proceeded through the hall to the front door and down to her parents’ carriage. Lord Withinghall handed her in.

  Without a chance to even say good-bye, the carriage door was closed, and they started down the street the short way to their home.

  “Did you have a good visit with your friend?” Mother asked.

  “Yes, it was very good.” Leorah kept her hand over the paper in her lap.

  “It sounds as if Lord Withinghall had a very eventful few weeks.”

  “Yes. Mr. Pinegar has nearly murdered him three times.” Leorah laughed nervously. Mr. Pinegar would have to slink away like the snake that he was. Or he could even be hanged for what he did, if the Crown chose to prosecute him.

  Father cleared his throat. “By Jove, that man has no one to blame but himself for losing his seat in the House of Commons come the next election. I don’t know what he was thinking, taking such a cowardly way of trying to kill someone. Why did he not just challenge Withinghall to a duel? That’s the gentleman’s way.”

  Leorah sighed. How glad she was that the Maysons had refrained from revealing what Lord Withinghall had said about being in love with her. There was no knowing what Father would have said to Lord Withinghall.

  She clutched the note in her hand and felt a frisson of excitement down the back of her neck.

  Once they were home, Leorah said, “Are you not very tired, Mother, after your long drive? You must have risen quite early.”

  “Yes, we did. We spent the night in Kent, at your aunt’s, but I slept very ill.”

  “I shall leave you alone to rest then,” she said. “I’ll be in my room.”

  Leorah fairly flew up the stairs. When she had closed the door, she threw herself on her bed, which the servants had not yet made ready after the long winter away. She unfolded the letter and read the confident, sprawling, distinctively male handwriting:

  Dear Miss Leorah Langdon,

  If you are reading this letter, then I have been unsuccessful in speaking with you alone. But I cannot allow another day to go by without conveying to you my feelings.

  You may have heard me say last night at the Colthursts’ ball that I was in love with you. But though I asked you to marry me once before, I want to explain how much I have come to admire you—for your heart of compassion and your life of purpose in a world in which such things are rarely, if ever, encouraged, a world where face and figure and accomplishments such as embroidering and simpering are prized above true character. You are a woman of great worth who has risen above society’s ideals, and I have come not only to admire you but to adore you as my heart’s desire.

  I understand if you do not trust my sentiments to be sincere. When first we met, I was harsh and rigid, and I treated you in an ungentlemanly manner, even insulting and criticizing you. I was completely wrong—wrong in my attitude and wrong about you. When our carriage overturned, though you were injured, your behavior was perfectly courageous and upright. You never tried to take advantage of the situation for your own profit, and you even refused my proposal of marriage—as well you should have, for at the time I did not realize that you were a pearl of great price, worth far more than reputations or political ambitions.

  In short, Miss Langdon, it has been many weeks since I have been able to think of anyone else but you. I shudder that I nearly married someone who was as shallow in her sentiments and desires as most of this society with whom we live and associate. I did not know it for a while, but what I truly want is you—vibrant, loving, beautiful, and full of charitable works, a true “woman of noble character.” And your carefree manner and enthusiasm—that I so misunderstood in our early encounters and wrongly criticized—have broken through the pain and loss that has dogged me since I was a child.

  Miss Langdon, I beg you to think of me not as the cold, prideful, self-centered politician you no doubt thought me to be. I beg you to allow me to prove to you the change God’s grace has wrought in me, and to allow me to love and cherish you for the rest of our lives.

 
I shall call on you tomorrow morning for your answer.

  Your faithful friend,

  Withinghall

  Leorah’s cheeks burned at the fervent words. She fanned her face with the letter before sitting up and rereading it. As she read it again, all those symptoms of Lord Withinghall’s nearness came over her at once—the pounding and skipping heart, the lack of breath, the somersaulting stomach. Oh dear. How could she wait? How could she bear to wait until tomorrow to see him and give him an answer?

  The day seemed to drag on and on. Father went to his club, and Mother took a nap in her room, so Leorah was left to wander about the house. She spoke to all the servants, as she had not seen them in several weeks. She asked after their health and families, then she wandered through all the rooms of the house, as if greeting them as well. She finally ended up in the small library, at the window facing the street below, and pressed her cheek against the cool pane.

  “Dear God,” she whispered, “how will I ever be worthy of such a man?” Never had she thought to ask such a question, and she shook her head at how much she had changed to even think such a thing now. She had been arrogant enough to think there was not a man in the whole world who would be able to make her love him. She had only recently admitted to herself that it was the fear of marrying someone who would treat her as coldly as her father treated her mother that had caused her to think she would never marry.

  Now she feared that she would not prove worthy of him.

  And yet, in spite of her extreme feelings for Lord Withinghall, fear threatened to overcome her desire for him—fear that he was insincere, that he was not as worthy as she thought him to be, that once they were married, he would forget his passion for her. He would immerse himself in his work and his friends and politics and ignore her. A tear slipped from her eye and down her cheek.