Someone should comfort her, should hold her and let her cry on their shoulder while they said kind things to her. But he did not imagine Miss Langdon would appreciate any such gesture from him. She had not even looked him in the eye when she ran into him in the hall, would probably hate him for having overheard what her father had said to her.
She had made it quite clear to her father that she would never marry him.
“He doesn’t care,” she went on, talking to her horse, “doesn’t care that I would be utterly miserable in a cold, loveless marriage.”
The words stung his chest, sending a lump into his throat.
“He wants me to feel as unloved as he has made Mother feel. If I didn’t have this stupid broken wrist, we could ride away from here.” She sniffed loudly. “It hurts so much that Father doesn’t understand, doesn’t care. But I will not let him or anyone else browbeat me into marrying someone who doesn’t love me. I would rather die,” she whispered hoarsely. “No matter what Father says, only the most passionate love will ever induce me to marry.”
Her fervency made Edward’s heart skip a beat.
It was as if he felt her pain as his own, the same pain he had felt many years before—and often since, though he had never confessed it to anyone. And now he understood even more clearly why she’d refused to marry him. It was not just that she disliked him, as he had supposed. She was afraid of ending up in a marriage like her parents’ and of being unloved.
His mind took him back to the moment when he had learned that his father had been killed in a duel. The pain of the loss of his father, the way he had died, and how that would affect his mother. Perhaps worst of all was the pain of feeling as if he had not been loved by his father, for if his father had loved him, he never would have dallied with the married woman whose husband had then challenged him to a duel and shot him.
But what was he doing here, dwelling on the past? He should not be standing there listening to a lady’s private conversation, even if it was with a horse.
He turned and limped away as quickly and quietly as possible, careful not to bang his cane on the hard-packed ground. He turned into the garden and hobbled down a path between two tall hedges that hid him from view of the stable.
He’d been sitting in the library across the hall from Mr. Langdon’s study when he had overheard their argument. He’d felt protective of her, something akin to the feeling he got when Nicholas Langdon and John Wilson told him stories about the children they had rescued from terrible circumstances. But no. This feeling for Miss Langdon was different.
Well, it certainly was not anything he should dwell on. For heaven’s sake, if he did not know better, he might have said he was nearly in love with the girl. Certainly he could imagine loving her if she had married him, had determined that he would love whomever he married. But marriage to Miss Langdon could not be. He intended to marry Miss Augusta Norbury. She was a much more suitable wife for a politician such as himself, being a steady, quiet, complacent girl. Wasn’t that what he needed?
When had good sense deserted him? Never, and it would not desert him now. He was not his father’s son, prone to illicit affairs and foolish, indiscreet passions. He would forget about Miss Langdon, force her from his mind once and for all, and then he would marry Miss Norbury.
That evening the servants, including the several that had come with the guests, were scrambling to get everything and everyone ready for the ball. There was to be music and dancing until the small hours of the next morning. Even Leorah was fluttering around in a new dress, hurrying to her mother’s room to borrow her jewelry, then to Felicity and Elizabeth’s room to make sure they had everything they needed, and back to her own room to fetch a ribbon that would perfectly match Felicity’s gown.
Finally, they were ready, and Leorah went down arm in arm with Felicity and Elizabeth.
At the bottom of the stairs stood Lord Withinghall in conversation with Nicholas. Leorah had nearly forgotten the earlier incident when she had run into Lord Withinghall after having words with her father. How much had the viscount heard? It tortured her that he should know how little her father cared about her, how her father still wanted to force her to marry Lord Withinghall, even after she had refused him in front of witnesses.
Why it should bother her so much, she was not sure. She was not in love with him, after all, and she no longer hated him as she once had. She should feel only indifference.
When they reached the bottom of the stairs, the two men turned to them and bowed, as the ladies curtsied to the viscount. They engaged in the usual inane chatter common at such parties, and Leorah was careful to give no hint of embarrassment or awareness of their earlier run-in. Lord Withinghall did the same.
The viscount wore a dark-green coat and waistcoat with buff-colored breeches and fashionable top boots. His neckcloth was also arranged in a very fashionable knot, and his hair was well styled and becoming.
Felicity squeezed her arm, and Leorah could imagine what she was thinking: Lord Withinghall looked handsome and much more fashionable. This was further proof of the transformation his new valet had made in the viscount’s appearance.
Already the musicians were beginning to play. Soon Lord Withinghall could begin to show interest in Miss Norbury and make it obvious he was courting her, and then announce their engagement. The goal of the party would be accomplished, and everyone could stop warning Leorah that people were gossiping about her and Lord Withinghall. And Lord Withinghall could live coldly ever after with his perfect politician’s wife.
They all moved into the ballroom as gentlemen approached the ladies and asked for a dance.
Leorah glanced around as a young man asked Felicity to dance the first dance. Before she could wish for a dance partner for herself, that audaciously handsome Mr. Geoffrey Hastings was striding toward her, a smile on his lips.
“Miss Langdon. I would be honored if you would be my dance partner for the first two dances.”
Soon she was on the dance floor facing the man. What was it that made him so handsome? His clothing was the height of fashion, and his light-brown locks reminded her of her baby niece, Marianne, whose hair was the exact same color. He smiled more than other men, showing off perfect white teeth. How refreshing, in a world of uptight, self-important men and women who seemed to think their faces would break if they dared to show joy or amusement.
She couldn’t help smiling back.
Perhaps this party would not be so bad after all.
Edward was not dancing, of course, because of his injured leg, but after Miss Norbury stood and talked with him for the first dance, she was dancing the second with an older married man. She looked lovely, and very sedate and proper, as usual. In another two or three days, he would ask her guardian, Mrs. Culpepper, to allow him to have a private word with her, and he would propose marriage. If she accepted him, he would request her guardian’s permission, they would discuss the terms and then publish the banns.