Several weeks later, at Lord and Lady Upchurch’s ball, Edward’s plan was coming together. It was nearly time for him to ask Miss Norbury to marry him. He had danced with her four times, enough to ensure that he had made his interest in the lady known. The whole night had been a success, as he had also managed to avoid Miss Leorah Langdon.
As the evening’s festivities drew near an end, he searched the crowd for Miss Norbury. There she was, on the other side of the room. He nodded farewell to the gentlemen he had been speaking with and turned to make his way to Miss Norbury when someone collided with him.
He reached out to steady the other person and found that she had spilled her drink down the front of his jacket.
“Oh.” The lady straightened away from him, staring at his chest and the stain she had made.
“Miss Langdon.” He momentarily imagined himself strangling her. “What are you about?”
“Spilling my negus, apparently. A gentleman—I believe it was Mr. Pinegar—pushed me. I assure you it was not my intention, nor was it my fault.” She stared up at him with a scowl of irritation.
How dare she scowl at him! “Young lady, you should watch where you’re going.”
“I was watching where I was going, unlike some people who can barely see past their noses.” She said the latter under her breath, but he heard her perfectly well.
He no more believed her story of being pushed than . . . “Miss Langdon, I would appreciate it if you would steer a wide path around my person, as, whenever you are around, I tend to get bumped into, have my clothing spoiled, and find my dignity otherwise injured by your carelessness.”
“You are the most obstinate, arrogant . . . The only thing preventing me from saying what I really think is my respect for my brother, who, for some reason, values your friendship.”
“Oh, I am most grateful, I assure you, for your forbearance. Heaven forbid you should say what you really think.”
He was insane to be allowing her to engage him in a childish squabble like this at a respectable ball. Dear God, get me away from this woman.
Leorah’s face heated as she noted the sarcastic tone of Lord Withinghall’s voice. How dare he speak so derisively to her? She’d never wanted to slap anyone’s face before in her life, but she was now experiencing that very urge.
“Forgive me for anything unjust that I might have said.” He had wiped the patronizing look from his face and replaced it with a more placating one. He bowed quickly as he said, “And please accept my best wishes for your health and happiness. Good night.”
“How dare you spout that drivel about your best wishes for me. Save the hypocritical, rote politeness for someone who will pretend to believe it.”
Lord Withinghall’s face turned a shade darker as he stared down at her with fire in his eyes. “Drivel? That’s a fine accusation from someone who said I resembled a pirate. Utter nonsensical . . .” His voice trailed off as he wiped at his waistcoat with his handkerchief.
“Calling you a pirate was an undeserved compliment.” Leorah knew she should keep quiet, should walk away and clamp down on her temper. But the heat in her head blurred her vision as well as her self-control. “A pirate would at least be interesting company.” What was she saying? They both sounded like children.
“Excuse me, but I have someone I must speak to. I bid you good night.” He bowed smartly and turned away.
How dare he turn away to prevent her from having the last word! The man was insufferable.
But her behavior had been less than seemly, or at least her family would have said so. Her mother would have been appalled, and Julia, her sweet, gentle sister-in-law, would have turned pale to hear her so forcefully insult a peer of the realm.
It wasn’t her fault. The man was exasperating, infuriating. How could anyone, someone she hardly knew, at that, bring out the worst in her, and so often?
There he was, standing at the door looking frustrated.
“Lord Withinghall!” their host, Mr. Upchurch, said, red in the face from too much brandy and speaking too loudly. “I trust you enjoyed yourself tonight. Is something wrong?”
Lord Withinghall answered him, but in a much quieter voice, and said something about “missing Miss Augusta Norbury before she departed.”
“Oh yes, I’m afraid you missed her departure while you were speaking with that beautiful young miss. Oh, there she is now.” The slightly inebriated Mr. Upchurch pointed at Leorah.
Leorah pretended not to hear or see him and turned to join Nicholas and Julia as they were gathering Julia’s shawl.
Isn’t it too bad that he missed his precious future wife before she went home? The two would probably have that cold, unfeeling marriage that Leorah planned so assiduously to avoid.
If only she did not have the sinking regret of having insulted him rather harshly. She did not want to feel guilty for anything she’d said to that man. She’d rather not think about him at all.
Edward dressed with care for his visit the next morning with Miss Norbury and her aunt. He supposed he ought to go out and buy some more fashionable clothing, but he rarely gave his clothes a second thought. There always seemed to be more important things to do. His valet, Boyles, was old, and his taste in clothes and ways of tying a cravat were probably as old as he was. Not that Edward had noticed it himself, but one of the manservants, Gates, had pulled him aside the other day and mentioned that it might be time to let Boyles step down to lighter duty and let a younger man, “with more fashion sense,” take over as his valet.
Edward had brushed him off as impertinent, imagining that Gates only wanted the job for himself. But now, looking in the full-length mirror, he began to really scrutinize his dress.
What did young men wear these days? He didn’t care about the dandies; he considered men like Beau Brummel caricatures and absurdly stupid to spend so much time and money on their appearance. Would Augusta be put off by him if he dressed out of fashion? Perhaps he should get new clothes. But even if he were fitted today, it would take days for the clothes to be ready.
Still, he could at least get a more fashionable cravat. Perhaps he should take Boyles with him, so he could learn to tie his neckcloth in the current style. Then he would still have time to call on Miss Norbury.
Edward arrived at Mrs. Culpepper’s front door at three o’clock, barely within the most polite visiting hours, with his new, fashionably tied cravat. He was allowed in by the butler, who took his calling card and said, “Mrs. Culpepper asked me to inform you that she and Miss Norbury have gone. They do not expect to return to town until next Season.”