“What is that you’re reading?” Nicholas was standing behind her, looking over her shoulder.
“You startled me.” Indeed, her heart was racing. She closed the paper and put it down.
“Were you reading Parliament’s schedule? I did not know that would interest you.”
She could hear the teasing tone in his voice.
“I am always interested in politics.”
“Are you? I seem to recall you saying you found politics deadly tedious.”
“That is only when you and Father are talking of tedious political subjects. You know I am always interested in the rights of women and children, any new bill about education for the poor. I am very politically aware.”
“Mmm.”
She stood to look her brother in the eye. “Besides, it is deadly dull around here.”
“It feels as if everyone is in London.”
“Exactly!”
Nicholas’s face broke into a smile.
“What are you grinning for? I am going to go find Julia and Isabella—”
As if her words had conjured them up—perhaps she had heard them in the hall—they appeared in the doorway.
“Nicholas,” Julia said with a gentle smile, “are you bedeviling your sister?”
“Not I. I was only helping Leorah to define why she is so irritable.”
“Irritable. I am not irritable.” But of course, just saying it belied her words.
“It is obvious,” Isabella chimed in. “She has only us married women to keep her company. She needs a ball or a dinner party to liven things up.”
“Or a political rally.” The mysterious tone in Nicholas’s voice put Leorah on her guard.
“What do you mean?” Julia said.
“I mean there is a political rally planned in Surrey, near London, on children’s education, and a certain viscount we know has been asked to speak. And also to sponsor a bill on educating the poor.”
Leorah’s heart thumped against her chest. Did her brother believe she was in love with Lord Withinghall? Was that why he was teasing her? She could not let on that her heart beat faster at the thought of seeing Lord Withinghall at a political rally. Instead she said, “How very interesting. I am always in favor of any bill involving educating the poor.”
“The rally is not until February. Well before that, Mother is planning a Christmas Eve party here at Glyncove, and Lord Withinghall has already accepted the invitation.”
Again, Leorah’s heart fluttered. But her brother and sisters-in-law were watching her. She raised her brows and folded her arms across her chest. “Surely Lord Withinghall is not to be our only guest.”
“No, of course not.” Julia and Isabella began discussing the guest list, but Leorah barely listened.
The papers had reported that Lord Withinghall’s proposal to a Miss L of Lincolnshire had been refused after the viscount’s carriage had overturned, trapping them inside. Then a few weeks later, they had reported that Lord Withinghall’s supposed imminent engagement to Miss N of Northamptonshire had never taken place and no longer seemed likely.
But though these events warranted only a line or two in the papers, Leorah had spent many hours lying in bed at night thinking how tragic it would have been if Lord Withinghall had married Miss Norbury. They simply did not suit each other at all. She also mused over his proposal to her. What if she and he had not made such bad first impressions on each other? What if she had not run over and spoiled his hat a year and a half ago, or called him a pirate and quarreled with him last Season? What if they had talked politely of books and helping poor orphan children and educating girls? And what if she had not refused his marriage proposal?
It was ridiculous to think about such a thing, for she could not have accepted his proposal. It was made under compulsion and without any attachment on either side. Besides that, just as they had hoped, the scandal surrounding their carriage accident seemed to have passed without too much damage to their reputations—though she would not know the extent of the damage until the Season had begun.
She could not have accepted him. He did not love her. And yet . . . the prospect of marrying the viscount was not so distasteful as it had once been.
Edward made his way toward Glyncove Abbey and the Langdons’ Christmas Eve party. Rain had made the roads a muddy mess, and the cold had frozen them solid. The carriage rocked from side to side, dipping in and out of the ruts. Sims, his new coachman, was not as skilled at missing the deepest ruts and holes as Pugh had been.
Poor Pugh. It was on the road to Glyncove Abbey where Pugh had met his untimely end. Had it been only a few months ago when he’d watched as Leorah Langdon’s horse threw her? Much had changed since then. He’d been on the verge of becoming engaged to Miss Norbury, and when he’d seen that it was Miss Langdon whose horse had thrown her, he’d groaned at his bad luck. To be forced to assist Miss Langdon, she whom he had vowed to avoid . . .
But it had been many weeks since he’d wanted to avoid her. In fact, his heart thrummed at the thought of seeing her again—and sank at her past indifference. But that was all over. They were friends now, were they not? Truthfully, it was difficult to tell with Miss Langdon. She did not flirt with him. She was polite, but there were times when he thought she was a bit more than polite, when interest shone in her eyes, such as when she had visited Grimswood Castle.
He could be imagining it.
The carriage hit a particularly deep hole, and a loud sound, like a gunshot, rang out.
Sims yelled. Edward lunged forward and threw up the seat opposite him. He grabbed his gun and readied it to shoot.
Sims was yelling encouragement to the horses and cracking his whip. The carriage was moving so fast that they would break an axle if they hit a deep hole now.
“Slow down!” Edward banged the top of the carriage and stuck his gun barrel out the window with one hand, throwing the curtain back with the other. Trees lined the road. He stuck his head out to survey the road behind them. No one was there, unless they were hiding behind Edward’s fast-moving carriage.
The horses gradually slowed and resumed their normal pace.
Had someone been trying to kill him? Or was it just someone out shooting pheasant? Either way, they seemed long gone now.
He kept his gun in his lap until they neared their destination, then he put it back inside the seat.
In front of Glyncove Abbey, Edward alighted from the carriage and found Sims staring at him with wild, wide eyes.
“Not injured, are you, Sims?”
“No, Lord Withinghall.”
“Did you see anyone?”
“No, but I saw the flash of the gun. He was hidden in the trees, but I’m sure whoever he was, he was shooting at us.”
Edward wished Sims had stopped so he could return fire, but the poor coachman was too clear and easy a target. He did not blame the man for whipping up the horses to a gallop. He certainly did not want to lose two coachmen in one year.
“You did the right thing, Sims.” Then, on a whim he asked, “Do you have any enemies?”
“Me, my lord? No, sir. I’m not even married.”