I understand if you do not trust my sentiments to be sincere. When first we met, I was harsh and rigid, and I treated you in an ungentlemanly manner, even insulting and criticizing you. I was completely wrong—wrong in my attitude and wrong about you. When our carriage overturned, though you were injured, your behavior was perfectly courageous and upright. You never tried to take advantage of the situation for your own profit, and you even refused my proposal of marriage—as well you should have, for at the time I did not realize that you were a pearl of great price, worth far more than reputations or political ambitions.
In short, Miss Langdon, it has been many weeks since I have been able to think of anyone else but you. I shudder that I nearly married someone who was as shallow in her sentiments and desires as most of this society with whom we live and associate. I did not know it for a while, but what I truly want is you—vibrant, loving, beautiful, and full of charitable works, a true “woman of noble character.” And your carefree manner and enthusiasm—that I so misunderstood in our early encounters and wrongly criticized—have broken through the pain and loss that has dogged me since I was a child.
Miss Langdon, I beg you to think of me not as the cold, prideful, self-centered politician you no doubt thought me to be. I beg you to allow me to prove to you the change God’s grace has wrought in me, and to allow me to love and cherish you for the rest of our lives.
I shall call on you tomorrow morning for your answer.
Your faithful friend,
Withinghall
Leorah’s cheeks burned at the fervent words. She fanned her face with the letter before sitting up and rereading it. As she read it again, all those symptoms of Lord Withinghall’s nearness came over her at once—the pounding and skipping heart, the lack of breath, the somersaulting stomach. Oh dear. How could she wait? How could she bear to wait until tomorrow to see him and give him an answer?
The day seemed to drag on and on. Father went to his club, and Mother took a nap in her room, so Leorah was left to wander about the house. She spoke to all the servants, as she had not seen them in several weeks. She asked after their health and families, then she wandered through all the rooms of the house, as if greeting them as well. She finally ended up in the small library, at the window facing the street below, and pressed her cheek against the cool pane.
“Dear God,” she whispered, “how will I ever be worthy of such a man?” Never had she thought to ask such a question, and she shook her head at how much she had changed to even think such a thing now. She had been arrogant enough to think there was not a man in the whole world who would be able to make her love him. She had only recently admitted to herself that it was the fear of marrying someone who would treat her as coldly as her father treated her mother that had caused her to think she would never marry.
Now she feared that she would not prove worthy of him.
And yet, in spite of her extreme feelings for Lord Withinghall, fear threatened to overcome her desire for him—fear that he was insincere, that he was not as worthy as she thought him to be, that once they were married, he would forget his passion for her. He would immerse himself in his work and his friends and politics and ignore her. A tear slipped from her eye and down her cheek.
A man was walking on the street below, heading to their door. It was Lord Withinghall.
She wiped furiously at the tear on her cheek with her fingers. She took a deep breath and let it out. Her hands shook as she used them to fan her face. She closed her eyes and rebuked her silliness, but that did not help either.
She ran down the steps and met the servant coming up.
“Lord Withinghall—” the servant began.
“Show him into the sitting room.”
“Yes, miss.”
Leorah darted into the room, her breath coming fast. Oh God, please let me be calm. But before she had finished the prayer, Lord Withinghall entered the room.
Leorah curtsied, and the servant left them alone.
“Forgive me for calling again so soon, but I was not needed.”
She stared at him.
“At Parliament. The House was not sitting today after all.”
“Oh.”
“You read my note?”
“I did.”
His eyes were so earnest and his face was slightly flushed. That face . . . those eyes . . . he was dear, so very dear. Did she dare? Did she dare do what every nerve in her body was telling her to do? Although it was very socially incorrect?
When had she ever cared about what was socially correct?
Leorah walked straight up to him and touched his hand. He wrapped his fingers around hers and squeezed.
“Do you truly love me?” she asked. “With all my faults? Knowing I’m not the most proper person and do not follow convention?”
He raised her hand to his lips, closed his eyes, and kissed her palm. Then he pressed her hand over his heart. “I do. I love you, Leorah, most fervently, everything about you. You are not improper at all, and I like that you are unconventional.”
He let go of her hand and pulled her toward him, with his arm around her back, and his other hand on her shoulder.
“Can you love me, Leorah? Will you marry me?”
“I do love you, and yes, I will marry you.” Another tear slipped down her cheek before she realized it.
He lifted a hand and wiped away the tear with his thumb. “Why are you sad?”
“I am not sad.” To her horror, another tear fell. “I am just . . . afraid.”
Before she could get her hand up, he wiped that tear away as well. “I did not think the fearless Leorah Langdon ever allowed anything to frighten her.”
She kept her head down as she forced back the tears. “I am afraid you will stop loving me someday. That you will cease to pay attention to me and will spend all your time on your work and at your club, that you would treat me coldly.”
“I would never purposely neglect you or stop loving you. Indeed, I cannot imagine any such thing.”
She allowed him to place his hand along her jaw and lift her face so he could look into her eyes.
“Do you think we will have a cold, passionless marriage like those of the aristocracy?” His gaze was fiercely intense. “Like that of the Prince Regent or most of the others around me in the House of Lords? I am ashamed I ever thought I could have married anyone but you. My loyalty is yours forever. I want you always by my side, whether I am in Lincolnshire, Suffolk, or London.” His voice softened. “I intend to love you as the Bible commands, to be considerate, to never let the sun go down on my anger, and to love and cherish you with my heart, soul, mind . . . and body.”
“Lord Withinghall!” She felt herself blushing.
“You must call me Edward. There shall be no formality when we are alone.” He sighed and shook his head slightly. “Forgive me. If it pleases you, you shall call me Edward.”
“It pleases me very much.”
“I have many duties as a viscount and a Cabinet Minister, but I vow to you that I will never stop loving you, passionately and tenderly. And you may remind me of this moment and this promise whenever you wish.”
The breath seemed to rush into her lungs. She whispered, “Passionately and tenderly. I shall remind you.”
He bent his head, and she was sure he was about to kiss her lips. Then he stopped just short. He sounded a little breathless as he said, “May I kiss you?”
“It is not proper until you speak to my father.”
He pulled back a bit and looked into her eyes.