A Viscount's Proposal Page 8

  “And when I finish Miss More’s book, you are welcome to read it yourself.”

  “That is very gracious of you, sir, since I may not be able to get a copy of it until I get back to town, and perhaps not even then, as it is bought up within hours of each printing, I hear.”

  They soon returned the conversation to what had happened to Edward’s carriage and how it had broken apart and caused such a violent accident, but they stopped short at speculating who could have done such a thing. Edward wasn’t willing to voice his suspicions about Mr. Pinegar aloud, and Langdon was perhaps too polite and discreet to ask him whom he suspected.

  Their conversation continued a while longer, with Langdon promising to come back and visit with him again in the evening.

  So this was to be his existence, lying in bed, with occasional visits from Nicholas Langdon, one of the few men he knew who possessed true and sincere charity, a man in whom there was no guile.

  Perhaps God had laid this trial on Edward to teach him some virtue or other. He would certainly have to learn patience over the next few weeks, as he was unable to walk. And he had begun to feel a twinge of guilt at the way he had treated one of the Langdons’ maids, who had cried when he’d yelled at her. The next time he saw her, he would apologize and assure her he didn’t intend to always be such a dragon.

  Or, as he had sometimes been called, a pirate.

  Two days after the carriage accident, Leorah was sitting outside in the garden on an overcast afternoon with her lap desk, just finishing a letter to Rachel Becker, for whom she had been praying every morning. Had she found a way out of her present situation, Leorah wondered, a way that would allow her to keep her daughter?

  She glanced up and saw her brother approaching.

  “Leorah, why haven’t you been to visit poor Lord Withinghall?”

  Leorah raised her brows at Nicholas. “Don’t tell me he’s been asking for me.”

  Nicholas frowned disapprovingly. “He can’t go home, he must lie in bed all day, and there’s little he can do. You could help disrupt the monotony of his day with your company.”

  “I doubt he craves my company. He thinks me a reckless hoyden.”

  “Come now. I know he intimidates most people, but my sister isn’t afraid, is she?”

  “Certainly not.” Leorah laid down her pen and closed her lap desk.

  “And I’m afraid Mr. Pinegar was here earlier this morning and said there was quite a bit of gossip about Lord Withinghall and you already.”

  “I am not afraid of a little gossip.” And she wasn’t afraid of Lord Withinghall either. So why was she avoiding the man? Did she dislike him so much? Yes. Yes, she did dislike him, but after the time they had spent together two days prior, the things he had done for her—splinting her broken wrist and then protecting her with his body, placing himself between her and harm, which she had only told her brother about—Leorah had begun to have other feelings besides abhorrence for Lord Withinghall. And she was not a girl of complicated emotions. She left the complicated emotions to her sister-in-law, Julia, and her friend Felicity, who often confessed to conflicted feelings about siblings and friends. Leorah was a one-or-the-other, all-or-nothing type of girl. She either liked a person or she disliked them. She either loved something or despised it.

  And that was the way she liked it.

  “Mr. Pinegar said there was gossip? In London? How does he know? I didn’t know he was here.”

  “He paid a visit this morning just after Julia and I took our morning ride. He only stayed a few minutes. I tried to get him to go up and see Lord Withinghall, but he said he didn’t want to disturb him.”

  “I don’t like Mr. Pinegar. He seems slippery and conniving.” See? No complicated emotions. She did not like Pinegar. She was a simple girl of simple emotions.

  “He was there after you and Lord Withinghall overturned, wasn’t he? I hope he is not the one spreading the gossip.”

  Leorah crossed her arms and stood staring off into the trees. “Did he say who specifically has been gossiping about myself and Lord Withinghall?”

  Nicholas thought a moment and shook his head. “He simply said that people were talking about the two of you being alone in the overturned carriage after dark and how strange it was that you were traveling together.”

  “We explained it all to him.” Leorah snapped her fingers and stomped her foot. “I shall tell him that gossip is evil, and anyone who gossiped about Lord Withinghall and me was stupid and didn’t know us or they would never imagine any evil liaison concerning the two of us.”

  “Careful, Leorah. Don’t give him any rope with which to hang you and Withinghall. I don’t trust the man.”

  “Neither do I. But I could say, for instance, that Withinghall and I dislike each other heartily and are the most incompatible two people that anyone ever falsely gossiped about.”

  “Truly, Leorah, methinks you protest too much.” Nicholas grinned.

  Leorah longed to wipe the smile from his face. “I refuse to even think of Mr. Pinegar or his gossip. My conscience is clear and, God willing, my reputation shall not be besmirched, not by Lord Withinghall.” Leorah snorted and laughed, for the very thought was ludicrous.

  “There you go again, protesting overmuch. But of a surety, Leorah, you owe it to the man to come and say a few words of good will to him once every day or two, at least.”

  Leorah pursed her lips. Her brother was appealing to her sense of duty, and though she would have liked to think she didn’t, she knew she did owe the man something.

  It was only this that made her think she might have some other feeling for him besides abhorrence, only a sense of obligation for the service he had rendered her.

  “I will go up and visit with him, even this very minute, if you will accompany me, for propriety’s sake.”

  “Since when have you cared about propriety?”

  “Don’t be impudent.” Leorah tucked her book under her arm and started toward the house. She might as well get it over with.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Edward lay with his splinted leg propped on pillows, as the doctor had visited and said that the swelling still had not gone down. He was thinking of the conversation he’d had with John Yarbrough, his sheriff, who had arrived that morning and had already set out to visit all the inns where Edward had stopped on his way from London to his country estate in north Lincolnshire. He could not have gone with him, even if he were in full health, as that wasn’t the sort of activity suitable for a viscount—conducting a clandestine investigation. But he wished he could.

  His book had once again grown stale, and he snapped it shut. So when he heard the knock at the door, he felt his spirits lift.

  Nicholas Langdon entered the room. But then Leorah Langdon entered behind her brother, and Edward felt his smile falter. It was rude of him, but it was an involuntary reaction.

  If he could judge her expression, she wasn’t exactly overjoyed to be in his presence either.

  After the usual pleasantries, and after Edward invited them both to sit, Miss Langdon asked, “How is your leg, Lord Withinghall? Is there anything more that can be done for your present comfort?”

  “I am as comfortable as a man confined to bed with a broken leg can be, I presume. And since one cannot gaze inside the leg to see whether the bones are knitting back together, I suppose we must hope for the best.” His tone sounded bitter, even to himself. He cleared his throat. He should probably try to soften his words with a smile. But he just couldn’t manage it.

  “Always ‘hope for the best.’ What wonderful words to live by, Lord Withinghall.” She wore a snide, narrow-eyed expression.

  “Yes.” He eyed her splinted arm but didn’t say anything.

  “You may be wondering about my arm. It seems to be knitting together nicely, although, as you say, one cannot look through skin, muscle, and sinew to see the bones for one’s self. Still, like you, my lord, I am hopeful for the best.”

  “Indeed,” Nicholas Langdon
said, frowning at his sister with a meaningful look beneath lowered eyelids.

  She gave him the tiniest of shrugs and smiled in feigned innocence.

  Withinghall’s heart gave a strange little twinge at the way her dark eyes went wide, the intelligent mischief in the upward quirk of her lips.

  Strange and foolish, his reaction. Though the girl was beautiful, Miss Langdon would no doubt cause sorrow to any man unfortunate enough to fall under her spell. Edward was too wise to the world’s ways to allow that to happen to him.

  They chatted awhile, with Nicholas, he was sure, trying to steer the conversation away from any prickly topics. Suddenly, Miss Langdon asked, “What is that you are reading?”

  “Christian Morals by Miss Hannah More.”

  “Ah.” She smiled knowingly, then glanced down at her own book.

  “Not to your taste, eh?”

  “I said nothing of the kind. Miss More’s books are . . . very instructive.”

  “But you are not in need of instruction?”

  “I didn’t say that either.” She bristled, sitting up straighter.

  “May I ask what book you are reading?”

  “The Mysteries of Udolpho.” There was a distinct look of defiance as she stared him in the eye.

  “Ah, Mrs. Radcliffe’s gothic novel.”

  “You are smirking,” she accused.

  “Not at all. But as you were not surprised at my choice of literature, I am equally unsurprised at yours.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Don’t you?”

  Nicholas laughed and quickly said, “Both of you love the popular literature of the day—Lord Withinghall loves the highly sought-after evangelical Christian works of Hannah More, and my sister loves Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels.”

  Miss Langdon ignored her brother as she never took her eyes off Edward’s face. “Lord Withinghall means that he could have guessed that I would read frivolous, rather scandalous novels like Mrs. Radcliffe’s romance. After all, I am such a reckless . . . what was it you called me? Hoyden?”

  Edward looked back at her, knowing there was no way he could get out of this conversation unscathed. Why did she always prod him? What was it about this girl that he could not meet her without sparring with her? Her behavior was just as he had said—hoydenish.

  “Are you saying you are a young woman whose behavior is never saucy or boisterous—saucy and boisterous being the definition, unless I am wrong, of the word hoyden?”

  She glared back at him, then sat back and folded her arms in front of her.

  “Forgive me. I am being ungracious.” But he stared right back at her. What had he said that was not correct and completely justified? He tried, for his friend Nicholas’s sake, not to let his self-satisfaction show on his face.

  “I am proud of my carefree behavior.” Two spots of red crept into her cheeks, and her chest heaved with every breath. “I am boisterous, when I choose to be, and simply because I don’t behave like a wan and fainting female who has not a thought in her head except to try to attract an eligible suitor”—her voice grew softer but lost none of its intensity—“I shall not conform to how you or anyone else tells me I should behave. I am answerable only to God.”

  The silence in the room was quite palpable. Even Nicholas was speechless for the moment. Finally, he said, “Come, Leorah. I think we have entertained Lord Withinghall long enough.” He started to rise from his chair.

  “You are correct.” Edward’s words stopped Nicholas from rising any farther, and he sat back down.

  “I beg your pardon?” Nicholas asked.

  “Miss Langdon is correct. She is not answerable to anyone but God. But we each have an obligation to our fellow man to behave in a manner that is edifying. When we follow our own rules, without regard for what society has set up for our own protection and for the consideration of the feelings of others, we also disregard God’s law of love for our fellow man.”

  “Sir,” she began, “I hope you are not suggesting that I have no consideration for the feelings of others, but you would be correct in supposing that I have no regard for the rules of a society that is both ridiculous and decadently enslaved to its own pleasures. No. I have no regard for society and its rules.”

  “And yet you move in some of society’s best circles. Do you disagree with the rules of basic decorum and morality? I am merely trying to understand.”

  “I do not believe anyone, even you, can accuse me of disobeying the rules of basic morality. I have read Miss More’s works, and I agree with much of what she says. And I believe Miss More would support my opinion that there is nothing wrong with flaunting rules that tell me I cannot ride my horse faster than a trot, or that I cannot speak my mind and say exactly what I think merely because I am a woman. Arbitrary rules that restrict women in ways men are not are my abhorrence. And I do not apologize for that.”

  Again he felt that strange pull in his chest at the way she was looking at him, with such confidence and defiance from finely shaped eyes that smoldered with anger and conviction.

  He wasn’t sure what made him pursue this contentious conversation, but he said, “So you only object to what you consider ‘arbitrary rules’ that restrict you because of your sex?”

  She seemed to be considering his question. “I object to those rules, yes.”

  “And you object to being called a hoyden, even though you said yourself that you are boisterous and carefree?”

  She stared away from him, at the wall behind him. When she spoke again, her voice was breathy. “I object to being subjected to your disapproval.”

  Now he was speechless. What did she mean, exactly? Did she care so much about his opinion of her? And why did he suddenly wish Nicholas would leave the room so he could ask her? The truth was, the emotion that had risen inside him was closer to admiration than disapproval.

  Nonsense. Was he becoming foolish over this girl who herself admitted she was a hoyden? The laudanum must still be affecting his thinking.

  “I object,” she said, her voice rising with her chin, “to the way you seem to think that women should have fewer rights of freedom than men. I am not an immoral woman, and yet you judge me and disapprove of me. I object to that attitude of yours, sir, that causes you to think the way you do.”

  “Do you not admit that recklessness in general can cause a susceptibility to immorality?”

  “Recklessness in what form? Recklessness in the manner in which I might run after my bonnet after the wind has blown it from my head? Recklessness in the manner in which I ride my horse? No, I certainly do not believe that the reckless manner in which I choose to ride my horse, which is faster than some would say is compatible with society’s rules, makes me in any way susceptible to immorality. The very idea is ridiculous.”

  Was it ridiculous? It seemed ridiculous, the way she presented it. Heat rose inside him. He had to put a stop to this conversation. She was making him question himself when he was being perfectly reasonable. She was the one who was reckless and unreasonable.

  “What is ridiculous is the way you flout society’s rules for no good reason.” His voice sounded hard and unrelenting. “It’s outright rebellion, and rebellion is and always has been a sin.”

  “Is it a sin to rebel against something that makes no sense, a man-made rule that serves no good purpose?”

  “Who is to say that it serves no good purpose?” Her reasoning was sound, a voice inside him said. But he still wasn’t willing to concede.

  With her eyes flashing, her cheeks flushed, and her posture lively, he was reminded of the way she had looked two days ago after she had been thrown from her horse, with her thick brown hair streaming over her shoulders and down her back. He shouldn’t be thinking about how beautiful she was.

  She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling. “Jesus rebuked those religious leaders of his day who esteemed man-made traditions over God’s own law. I suppose my opinion is not as good as Hannah More’s, but
even you cannot argue with Jesus. I consider myself an intelligent and morally upright person, and God’s Spirit has not impressed upon me, up to this moment, the importance of riding my horse slowly, nor of letting the wind take my bonnet wherever it chooses without running after it.”

  Nicholas coughed behind his hand, then said, “Shall we call this fight a draw?”

  Edward recovered his breath sufficiently to say, “’Tis no fight. Only a discussion. And Miss Langdon makes many fine points, one being the necessity of listening to God’s voice when we decide to rebel against the rules of polite society.” Could he help it if a hint of irony entered his tone when he said the words? It was rather amusing that Leorah Langdon considered herself wise enough to rebel against society’s rules, and yet . . . “I would have to agree that it is foolish to blindly follow man-made rules of conduct. You would have made quite a good orator, Miss Langdon, good enough to capture the attention of your fellow Members of Parliament.”

  The phrase “if you had been a man” hung in the air as Leorah stared back at him, studying him through narrowed eyes. She said coolly, “I shall interpret that as a compliment.”

  “As it was meant to be.”

  She stood up. “I must take my leave of you now, Lord Withinghall, and allow you to enjoy my brother’s company undisturbed.”

  “As you wish.”

  Edward watched her go and told himself he did not feel unsettled or in any way affected by her.

  When had he started lying to himself?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Leorah and Julia gratefully welcomed their friend Felicity Mayson from London as she arrived on the fourth day of Lord Withinghall’s stay. Even confined as he was to his bed, the viscount’s presence was like a dark cloud in the house, hanging over Leorah and reminding her of how unsettled she was around him. The exhilaration she had felt at being once again in the country, riding Buccaneer and feeling so free from the confines of London and its oppressive rules, had all disappeared. True, that was not all Lord Withinghall’s fault. Her broken wrist kept her from riding, but it gave her a perverse satisfaction to blame him.