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.”