A Viscount's Proposal Page 25

  A man was walking on the street below, heading to their door. It was Lord Withinghall.

  She wiped furiously at the tear on her cheek with her fingers. She took a deep breath and let it out. Her hands shook as she used them to fan her face. She closed her eyes and rebuked her silliness, but that did not help either.

  She ran down the steps and met the servant coming up.

  “Lord Withinghall—” the servant began.

  “Show him into the sitting room.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  Leorah darted into the room, her breath coming fast. Oh God, please let me be calm. But before she had finished the prayer, Lord Withinghall entered the room.

  Leorah curtsied, and the servant left them alone.

  “Forgive me for calling again so soon, but I was not needed.”

  She stared at him.

  “At Parliament. The House was not sitting today after all.”

  “Oh.”

  “You read my note?”

  “I did.”

  His eyes were so earnest and his face was slightly flushed. That face . . . those eyes . . . he was dear, so very dear. Did she dare? Did she dare do what every nerve in her body was telling her to do? Although it was very socially incorrect?

  When had she ever cared about what was socially correct?

  Leorah walked straight up to him and touched his hand. He wrapped his fingers around hers and squeezed.

  “Do you truly love me?” she asked. “With all my faults? Knowing I’m not the most proper person and do not follow convention?”

  He raised her hand to his lips, closed his eyes, and kissed her palm. Then he pressed her hand over his heart. “I do. I love you, Leorah, most fervently, everything about you. You are not improper at all, and I like that you are unconventional.”

  He let go of her hand and pulled her toward him, with his arm around her back, and his other hand on her shoulder.

  “Can you love me, Leorah? Will you marry me?”

  “I do love you, and yes, I will marry you.” Another tear slipped down her cheek before she realized it.

  He lifted a hand and wiped away the tear with his thumb. “Why are you sad?”

  “I am not sad.” To her horror, another tear fell. “I am just . . . afraid.”

  Before she could get her hand up, he wiped that tear away as well. “I did not think the fearless Leorah Langdon ever allowed anything to frighten her.”

  She kept her head down as she forced back the tears. “I am afraid you will stop loving me someday. That you will cease to pay attention to me and will spend all your time on your work and at your club, that you would treat me coldly.”

  “I would never purposely neglect you or stop loving you. Indeed, I cannot imagine any such thing.”

  She allowed him to place his hand along her jaw and lift her face so he could look into her eyes.

  “Do you think we will have a cold, passionless marriage like those of the aristocracy?” His gaze was fiercely intense. “Like that of the Prince Regent or most of the others around me in the House of Lords? I am ashamed I ever thought I could have married anyone but you. My loyalty is yours forever. I want you always by my side, whether I am in Lincolnshire, Suffolk, or London.” His voice softened. “I intend to love you as the Bible commands, to be considerate, to never let the sun go down on my anger, and to love and cherish you with my heart, soul, mind . . . and body.”

  “Lord Withinghall!” She felt herself blushing.

  “You must call me Edward. There shall be no formality when we are alone.” He sighed and shook his head slightly. “Forgive me. If it pleases you, you shall call me Edward.”

  “It pleases me very much.”

  “I have many duties as a viscount and a Cabinet Minister, but I vow to you that I will never stop loving you, passionately and tenderly. And you may remind me of this moment and this promise whenever you wish.”

  The breath seemed to rush into her lungs. She whispered, “Passionately and tenderly. I shall remind you.”

  He bent his head, and she was sure he was about to kiss her lips. Then he stopped just short. He sounded a little breathless as he said, “May I kiss you?”

  “It is not proper until you speak to my father.”

  He pulled back a bit and looked into her eyes.

  “But as I am certain he will say yes, then I give you permission.”

  There was a rakish look in his eye the moment before he pressed his lips to hers. His kiss was simple but heartfelt.

  He pulled away, and she kept her eyes closed, unwilling to let go of the magic of this moment. His lips, firm and warm, kissed her brow.

  “What are you thinking of?” His voice was raspy, his breath caressing her temple.

  “I am thinking that you still remind me of a pirate.”

  “What was it—my eyebrows?”

  She opened her eyes to see his amused smile.

  “Yes, and your dark, wavy hair. I am imagining you as a pirate, your hair blowing in the wind, jacketless, your neck exposed to the sea air, and that severe look you sometimes get when you’re displeased. I have not seen that look in a while—not directed at me, at least.”

  “That is because you do not displease me.”

  She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his lips. One kiss turned into two, then three, then she lost count.

  Finally Lord Withinghall—Edward—pulled away. “A servant might walk by. Or your mother.”

  “I suppose.” She put her arm through his as he led her to the couch. They sat very close. What a strange and wonderful feeling to allow herself to touch Lord Withinghall’s—Edward’s—arm and feel as if they belonged to each other. He sat with his head angled down toward her, as if listening for her to speak.

  “Is your father home? I should like to speak to him today.”

  “No, he’s away.”

  “Shall I go find him?”

  “Not just yet. You know he will say yes.” She was in no hurry to part with him. She felt as if she could sit beside him for hours and still not wish him to leave. Besides, she was still thinking about his kisses and wondering if he might kiss her again.

  “I thought I would get a license so we don’t have to have the banns read,” he said.

  “Yes, that is good.”

  “Shall we marry very soon or wait? I should like to take you on a wedding trip, but Parliament will still be in session for several more months.”

  “We can go on a trip at any time, and I should prefer to marry as soon as possible.”

  He gazed down at her as if she had just said the most wonderful thing he’d ever heard.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  They sat quietly talking, half listening for Mother to come down the stairs, Father to come home, or one of the servants to walk by, in which case they would move away and stop sitting so close. But an hour passed, and no one bothered them. The servants must have been too busy getting the house ready.

  Mother did finally come downstairs and saw them sitting close together on the sofa. After greeting her, Edward excused himself to go find her father at his club.

  Mother lifted her brows. “What is this, Leorah?”

  “We are engaged to be married, Mother.”

  “You are engaged? To Lord Withinghall?” She stepped closer to her daughter. “And do you love him, truly love him?”

  “Yes, Mother. I love him so much more than I ever could have thought possible.” She laughed, and her mother embraced her. “You will love him too, when you know him better.”

  Late in the afternoon, her father came home while Leorah was busily knitting. She was too nervous to write to Julia and Nicholas, or Isabella and Jonathan, or even Felicity to tell them of her engagement, and she was too nervous to read a book, so she sat knitting a blanket for the Children’s Aid Mission. She kept her head down so Mother would not ask why she was smiling and blushing as she relived her visit with Lord Withinghall—Edward—her viscount pirate.

  “So”—Father’s voice boome
d from the doorway of the sitting room, drawing Leorah and Mother’s full attention—“you managed to get the viscount to propose again.” Her father’s face was lighted up, the closest thing to a smile one was likely to see from him. “And it’s all over town that the man is in love with you.” He slapped the newspaper in his hand and strode into the room.

  “What are you speaking of?” Mother said. She knew him well enough not to bother to ask him to lower his voice.

  “Read it for yourself, Mrs. Langdon.” He held out the paper to her. “It’s all there, how Mr. Pinegar implicated himself in several evil doings at a ball at Colthurst’s. To think an MP could behave himself so badly. But our Lord Withinghall comes out looking like a hero from a blooming novel.” Father let out a triumphant guffaw.

  He turned toward Leorah while Mother read the paper.

  “How now, missy? You had me fooled, but your sense got the better of you. There’s no denying the worth of an alliance with the wealthy Lord Withinghall—a viscount, no less.”

  Leorah stared at him, hoping her horror showed on her face.

  “Father, I hope you do not crow like this in front of anyone else. Lord Withinghall is only a man, though he is a viscount. He believes himself to be as blessed in his choice as you believe me to be, and I hope you will not disabuse him of that belief.”

  “Very well, daughter, very well. I shall not crow, as you call it, in front of Lord Withinghall, but it is a fine thing to have a daughter married to a rich viscount.”

  “I value his kindness and good character much more than his wealth or his title.”

  Her father did not even acknowledge her words but sighed and stared at Mother. “No other man in England has children who have distinguished themselves as ours have. Mrs. Langdon? Is it not so?”

  She glanced up again. “Indeed, we have three very excellent children.” She looked at Leorah and smiled. “Lord Withinghall is completely acquitted of any wrongdoing, from this report. I am very pleased.”

  Leorah smiled back, but she could no longer stay still and listen to their discussion of her upcoming marriage or her future husband. “I am going to my room. I shall be down for dinner.”

  Leorah gathered her things and started toward the door.

  “We should invite Lord Withinghall to dinner. Mrs. Langdon? As soon as he has an evening away from his duties.”

  “Yes, my dear,” she said.

  Leorah hurried up the stairs to be alone with her thoughts.

  Edward had never felt so distracted or so frustrated with the proceedings of the day as he had the day before, when he had been forced to stay in Parliament and listen to hours of rhetoric. At least today was Sunday and the House of Lords would not be sitting, so he could attend church with Leorah and her family. They had also invited him to dine with them afterward. Perhaps he and Leorah could set a date for their wedding.

  Tomorrow he would need to remember to send more food and provisions to Samuel Bellamy’s wife. And a few of Edward’s friends were quietly working behind closed doors to get the man set free, possibly sending him and his family away to another part of the country where he might find work, though they might only be able to get him transported to America or Australia. But at least that was better than hanging.

  After church, Edward accompanied Leorah and her family to their home. He was seated near enough to Leorah to speak to her, but not near enough to speak familiarly without someone else hearing them. He contented himself with glancing often at her across the table.

  Would the independent, strong-willed Leorah Langdon truly marry him? Would she change her mind? He remembered their kisses from the day he had asked her to marry him, which helped to reassure him that she would not change her mind. And when she met his eye and smiled, his heart lurched.

  After the meal, they sat together in the drawing room, and he found himself wishing she could put her arm through his and sit close, as they had when they were alone two days before.

  Everyone seemed unable to stop glancing their way. Mr. Langdon stalked the room, clearing his throat or opening his mouth several times as though about to speak, but not saying anything. Mrs. Langdon would break the silence occasionally to ask a question or make an observation.

  Leorah said, “I must go very soon and visit Julia and Nicholas and their new baby.”

  Edward’s stomach sank at the thought of her being away.

  “Shall we go next week?” Mrs. Langdon said. “We only need stay a few days.” She smiled at him.

  “Yes, that will be good,” Leorah said.

  “I had thought Miss Langdon and I might set a wedding date.”

  Leorah suggested a date in late March.

  “That is only four weeks away,” her mother said.

  His heart pounded at the thought that she was as anxious to marry as he was. Soon they had all agreed on the date Leorah suggested.

  Mr. Langdon spoke up once that was settled and asked Edward about the bills that had been introduced into Parliament that session, and Leorah sprang up and went to the pianoforte to play. She played while her father talked. Edward would rather have given his full attention to her playing but did not want to be rude to her father.

  After another half hour, he rose and made ready to leave them. As Leorah accompanied him to the door, Mr. and Mrs. Langdon hung back and started talking to each other, giving Edward a chance to say quietly next to Leorah’s ear, “Will you allow me to write to you?”

  “I would like that very much,” she said.

  He squeezed her hand and left.

  Beginning the next morning, Leorah began receiving a short letter from her future husband with every morning post, which were replied to with equal alacrity.

  Dearest Leorah,

  I hope you will not censure me for saying that I am eagerly awaiting the day when we can speak privately without your parents hearing every word we say, for I want to know your thoughts on every subject, want to hear your opinion about every important—and every not-so-important—topic, and I find I don’t care about anyone else’s as much as I care to know yours.

  Dearest Edward,

  Are you sure you want to know my thoughts? Some of them might be considered reckless and unseemly. They have even at times been called foolish and heedless.

  But I feel the same way. I want to know all your thoughts on every topic, even if they are not the same as mine. I also want to know if you were successful in helping that poor man’s family, the one who nearly shot you. I want to know all the thoughts of a man who would save the life of his would-be killer if he could.

  Dearest Leorah,

  I especially want to know your most reckless and unseemly thoughts, for I find my life is too ordered and dull, and I am in want of a wife who will entertain me with such opinions as yours. I only hope you will not think my thoughts too stuffy and rigid. I have a secret fear you will suddenly realize I am no pirate and will break off our engagement. Therefore, I am willing to miss a few days of my parliamentary duties as soon as possible to marry you and take you to the sea on a short honeymoon trip.

  May we change our agreed-upon date and marry the day after you return from your visit with Nicholas and Julia and their new baby?

  Leorah laughed at his letter and wrote back:

  My Dearest, Most Endearingly Impulsive Edward,

  Of course we may marry the day after my visit with Nicholas and Julia and my newest niece. And though I would be delighted to have you all to myself for as many days as possible, I would not take you away from your duties. We will marry, have Saturday and Sunday to ourselves at your—our—home in London, and then go on our seaside trip when this session is over in July or August. And though you say you are no pirate, the very fact that you wish to take me to the sea makes me even more suspicious. If your previous scandalous behavior and your unfortunate choice in a wife have not shipwrecked your political ambitions, then your unlawful actions as a pirate will no doubt preclude you from the position of Prime Minister and First Lord of
the Treasury. I only wish to warn you.

  My Kindly, Upright, and Law-Abiding Leorah,

  I very much appreciate your graciously putting me on my guard concerning the position of Prime Minister. To own the truth, I am inclined to believe that I was wrong to make it my goal to attain the highest position in Parliament. Mr. Pinegar has usefully helped me to see that I only wanted that position so that I might redeem my family name after what my father did to sully it. Avoiding scandal proved to be difficult and unfulfilling. The thought of spending a quiet life with you and, if God so wills, our children, is the happiest thought I have.

  The day after Leorah returned from Lincolnshire and her visit with Nicholas and Julia and their sweet new baby, Jane, she and Edward married in a small ceremony with only his aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. Dixon, Leorah’s parents, Felicity and Elizabeth, and Mr. and Mrs. Mayson.

  After the wedding breakfast at the Langdons’ town house, the newlyweds were finally alone in their carriage on the short ride to their home.

  As soon as the door was shut, Edward took Leorah in his arms and kissed her—a long, fervent kiss that took her breath away.

  His eyes half closed, he said, “Are you sorry we are not on our way to spend our first night together at the sea, or at Grimswood Castle?”

  She laid her head on his shoulder. “You cannot persuade me that I am not thoroughly happy.” She played with his large hand and long fingers, tracing circles on his skin as she talked. “Though I am nearly as in love with Grimswood Castle as I am with its owner, I am perfectly content to spend my first night as your wife in our London town house and go to the sea with you at the end this year’s session of Parliament.”

  She lifted her face and reached up to bring his mouth down to hers. She kissed him with her whole heart, with as much fervor as he had done.

  He groaned. “You make me thankful to be alive.”

  “I love you,” she whispered.