That almost sounded respectful of her opinion. She thought about asking him if he would like to read it but was afraid that was pushing things too far.
“I can’t ride my horse,” Leorah said, “so I suppose I must read. And entertain my guests, of course. Speaking of guests . . .” Leorah turned around to face him, forcing herself to look pleasant. “My brother, Mrs. Langdon, and I are happy to welcome your fiancée, Miss Augusta Norbury, to our home. I hear she is to arrive in a few days.”
“Miss Norbury is not my fiancée.” His eyes locked on hers in an intense gaze.
She wondered for a moment if she had made him angry, and she had been rather peevish to say Augusta was his fiancée when Leorah knew she was not. Why did she always have such an urge to provoke him? She had provoked him without intending to, indeed, the first two times she encountered him. She seemed to take a perverse pleasure in the knowledge that she was able to annoy him. But now he was looking at her in such an intense way, she couldn’t tell if he was provoked or not.
“But you do intend to make her your fiancée, or so I have heard,” Leorah went on, “and I imagine you are pleased she is arriving?” She raised her eyebrows at him.
“I believe I must be,” he said evenly. “For, with all the gossip floating about . . .” He continued to study her. “Since you have rejected my offer of marriage, it would be prudent if you invited your own suitor, someone you favor as a possible husband.” He emphasized the word favor.
Leorah stood up straighter to hide her surprise—and distaste—at his suggestion that she should take such an action to fend off the gossipmongers. “I believe your Miss Norbury will be enough to quench the fiery darts of rumors and false reports about you and myself.”
“Perhaps for me, but not for you. Miss Langdon, I do not wish to be the means of ruining your chances of happiness. I am at a loss, but I am willing to do whatever is necessary and helpful in preserving your reputation.”
Leorah, in spite of herself, felt touched at his earnest expression. Could it be that he was truly willing to give up his perfectly matched wife in Augusta Norbury to marry Leorah, when she knew he disliked her, simply to save her reputation? It was incredibly sacrificial, and yet it made her insides squirm at the same time.
“Do not be anxious for my welfare, Lord Withinghall. It was never very certain that I would marry, and my brother and our position in society shall keep me safe from dangerous predators of all sorts.” Rumors could ruin her chances at a happy marriage, but wealth and family could keep her from suffering any threat of evil. “I can be happy without a husband.”
“Then I shall not renew my request for your hand. I can see it is distasteful to you.”
His tone and face were expressionless, yet she couldn’t help but wonder if he had any feelings, whether good or bad, about not marrying her. He was an enigma. Regardless, he’d be engaged to Augusta Norbury soon, and that would be the end of it.
Lord Withinghall picked up a book that was lying in his lap and showed it to her. “This wouldn’t happen to be your copy of Miss Hannah More’s Essays on Various Subjects Principally Designed for Young Ladies, would it?”
Leorah stared at the book a moment. “It would.”
“I only ask because I saw a passage underlined inside.”
“Oh? I don’t remember underlining anything. But it has been a few years since I read portions of it.”
“Yes, you underlined a passage where Miss More was speaking of the unprofitability of superficiality and said that young ladies were quite wrong to, and I quote, ‘act consistently in studying none but exterior graces, in cultivating only personal attractions, and in trying to lighten the intolerable burden of time, by the most frivolous and vain amusements.’”
“Yes, I liked the way she said that. I daresay I agreed with her at the time.” She didn’t like admitting that she had even read Miss More’s book of essays, and even less that she had found anything of interest in it.
“And you no longer agree?”
“I suppose a young lady should occupy her time as productively as she can, but if she wishes to spend some of her time in frivolity and vain amusements, as long as she isn’t hurting anyone, I believe that should be her prerogative.”
A flicker of something crossed his face—disappointment perhaps?
She had a distinct urge to roll her eyes to the ceiling, a habit that had begun in her childhood whenever she disliked something her nurse or governess told her. Her governess had proclaimed it a very bad habit indeed, quite improper, but Leorah was still tempted to indulge in the rebellious act every now and again. It came as no surprise that Lord Withinghall brought out the temptation in her.
“Truthfully,” Leorah began, unable to resist baiting him, “I don’t believe I ever finished the book. Whenever I would begin to read it, I always found myself falling asleep.”
He gave her a little frown, but his expression was much too good-natured to satisfy her desire to see him become annoyed with her. She could almost believe he was amused.
“Do you not have any reproach to make toward me, Lord Withinghall?”
“Do you want me to reproach you?”
The question caught her off guard for a moment. “Of course not. But just as you do not like novels, I do not like essays on piety for young ladies.”
“I did not say I don’t like novels.”
“I believe you did, a day or two ago when you disapproved of me reading Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels.”
“I will say only that I have never read one I particularly enjoyed.”
“Oh, that is sad indeed. You are obviously reading the wrong ones. But I am surprised to find you reading essays for young ladies.”
“I have read everything Miss More has ever published, but I was curious to see if you had read her book.”
Why would he be curious about that? “I have read parts of Miss More’s books, but I find I need action and a plot to hold my interest. I find morality writings quite dull. Besides, I don’t like rules being forced upon me.”
“It is rules you object to. I see. All rules? Or only some?”
Leorah shrugged. “I don’t object to the Bible, of course. I have read it more than once, and the Ten Commandments are quite necessary. I don’t object to those.”
“That is a relief to hear.”
There! Was that a smile? Wonder of wonders, had she amused Lord Withinghall? But no, it was gone, if it had ever been there, and she was not certain it had.
Lord Withinghall tilted his chin toward his chest, staring across at her. “So Hannah More’s writings are rules that are being forced on you?”
“I believe I could accurately say, when anyone but God tells me I can or cannot, should or should not do something, I get a distinct desire to rebel. And just the thought of reading her latest book gives me that rebellious feeling. There, I’ve confessed, and now you must judge me as you see fit.” She couldn’t help smiling in triumph at having said exactly what she thought.
She rather hoped Lord Withinghall would say exactly what he thought and not repress his own opinions in an effort to be polite.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN