“What are you reading there?” He pointed at Edward’s open book.
“Hannah More’s latest work, Christian Morals.”
“You must have bribed someone to get a copy of that.”
“Very nearly. Actually, my man was having trouble securing a copy, and I received this one from Hannah More herself.”
Langdon raised his brows. “Many people would envy you. What is good Hannah’s latest word on our decadent society?”
“Decadent is the word. She paints us all, especially the upper classes, in no favorable light, and all of it is true, I’m afraid. She seems to see into the very soul of Britons and has found us to be a hypocritical, unkind, selfish lot. All except William Wilberforce, of course. Whether we have the fortitude to change is another debate.”
“It is no very great likeness to you either, my lord, you who champion the cause of the poor and fatherless street children of London.”
“Do not flatter me, Langdon, when you yourself are much more worthy of praise than I, and John Wilson more worthy than either of us.”
Langdon smiled.
“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