“Yes, but don’t you think his manner is rather . . . I don’t know . . . ill-tempered and unbending? He’s the sort to prevent his wife from doing anything agreeable, like reading novels. I would lay down ten pounds that he plans never to allow his wife to read anything more stimulating than Fordyce’s Sermons.”
“Leorah!” Eleanor covered her mouth with her fan and giggled softly. “The things you say! But I daresay his wife may be hard-pressed to not cower before him. He has such a frightening expression on his face nearly all the time. I have never dared venture near him. Still, if he asked me to marry him, I’d say yes immediately. Twenty-five thousand pounds can make up for a lot of frightening looks. And I still say he is handsome.”
“If he were ever to smile, perhaps.”
Nicholas and Lord Withinghall began walking toward the chairs as the musicians readied their instruments. Julia motioned with her hand for Leorah to come.
“It appears as if you will be sitting with him.” Eleanor squeezed Leorah’s arm excitedly. “Try to make a good impression. He may be searching for a wife.”
“Oh, Eleanor, if he is, nothing could horrify me more.”
But her friend didn’t seem to hear what Leorah said or notice her reluctance. Instead, Eleanor smiled broadly as she waved and turned to find her own party.
Leorah had no choice but to join Nicholas, Julia, and Lord Withinghall for the concert. At least she was able to contrive a seat beside Julia with both her sister-in-law and Nicholas to block her view of Lord Withinghall. Still, good manners dictated that she acknowledge his presence, so she nodded to him coldly.
He focused on her with his dark-blue, almost black, eyes beneath those distinct eyebrows that had put her in mind of a rakish pirate. He nodded back at her as gravely as if he were at a hanging, and with equal distaste.
Had the man ever smiled in his life? She doubted it.
She endeavored to put Lord Withinghall out of her mind and enjoy the concert.
The music was pleasurable, but it seemed to go on too long. By the time the musicians stopped for intermission, Leorah was feeling restless and wishing to be back at their town house in Mayfair, or better yet, at their country estate in Lincolnshire where she could ride her horse and explore the land nearby to her heart’s content. But alas, she was a long way from there.
Leorah wandered the corridor and foyer of the concert hall in search of an acquaintance to talk to. She spied Lord Withinghall ahead of her, speaking to Miss Augusta Norbury and her aunt and guardian, Mrs. Palladia Culpepper.
What an appropriate couple Lord Withinghall and Miss Augusta Norbury made. Miss Norbury was someone Leorah avoided at parties and other social gatherings. The girl seemed polite enough, but there was something about her demeanor, a cold haughtiness in the tilt of her head and her lack of conversation, that always put Leorah off. She always felt as if the girl was looking down on her, which was the same feeling she got when she was around Lord Withinghall.
Yes, they made a perfect couple.
When the concert was set to resume, Lord Withinghall had not returned to sit with them. Instead, he was sitting with Miss Norbury and Mrs. Culpepper, looking very rigid and proper. Leorah suddenly wondered why she and Felicity had imagined him as a pirate. No self-respecting pirate would be caught dead in such attire—that plain waistcoat and even plainer black evening coat, that stiff cravat tied in such a simple way, and the severe style of his hair. He had no watch fob or chain, nothing to distinguish his dress.
A pity he was not a pirate. Instead, he was only an uptight viscount who aspired to be Prime Minister.
Miss Norbury still appeared as haughty as ever, but there was also a look of interest Leorah hadn’t seen before. Leorah sensed Augusta Norbury would be more than pleased to accept Lord Withinghall if he asked her for her hand.
There was no accounting for some people’s taste.
Edward hadn’t realized Nicholas Langdon’s sister, Leorah Langdon, would be accompanying her brother, or he never would have ventured to sit with them at the concert. But the object of his interest—indeed, the object of his intentions—made herself visible at the intermission, and he was able to find a seat with her for the remainder of the evening’s entertainment. Miss Augusta Norbury was just the sort of genteel girl who would make him a suitable wife. He had singled her out and only needed to make a show of his preference for her before asking her to marry him. She appeared quiet and complying and didn’t seem to be the sort who would do anything impulsive. He couldn’t imagine her flouting polite society’s rules of gentility, running willy-nilly through a maze, galloping through Hyde Park where people were walking, and generally making a spectacle of herself. Nor would Miss Norbury engage in reckless conversations about a respectable Member of Parliament—a viscount, no less—looking like a pirate.
Miss Norbury was the sort who would do her duty as the wife of a viscount. She would be a perfect hostess with perfect manners—what more could he want in a wife? And she was very pretty too. Though perhaps not so beautiful as to excite the interest of rakes and buffoons who preyed on women’s silly imaginings.
He had a horror of impulsive, flighty women such as Miss Leorah Langdon. It was a pity an upstanding young man like Nicholas Langdon should have such a sister. Comparing him to a pirate! It was ludicrous and unseemly. And she was dangerously beautiful besides. The worst combination, to be sure.
When the concert was over, he offered to escort Miss Norbury and her aunt to their carriage, then promised to call on her the next day.
The next day, he called at one o’clock—not too early nor too late. He stayed an appropriate length of time—half an hour—and asked if he might call for Miss Norbury the next day at four thirty for an outing in the park. His offer was accepted, and he departed.
He would go on in this manner for precisely four weeks—plenty of time to form an attachment, as people referred to it—and then he would ask her to marry him. She would say yes, no doubt, and they would wait eight weeks—a most suitable amount of time for the banns to be read—and then they would be married at her home parish in Northamptonshire.
Miss Augusta Norbury was the daughter of the now-deceased Sir Walter Norbury, a man of spotless reputation and a friend of King George in the height of his power and sanity. Her aunt was also upright, completely devoid of foolishness, and disapproving, loudly, of any sort of folly to be found in human nature.
Everything would be done in a tidy, proper way, and he would have no fear of further rumors about his frequenting the Cyprians, those women who lived their lives to ruin reputations and draw men away from their wives and their homes. If Edward could show the world he had a wife who esteemed him, could show he was above courtesans and intrigues of that nature, he could laugh at any reports such as the one falsely circulated about him in the papers. Most importantly, he would continue to show the world that he was nothing like his father.
CHAPTER FOUR