“And you are not?”

  “Good God, no! The pair were made for each other, though I cannot help owning I would have liked to take up the wedded state. Sometimes—though I am quite dreadful to say it—I find this place oppressive.”

  Lord Waverley had no difficulty believing her, especially when confronted by the gilded chairs whose feet each depicted a rather monstrous gargoyle. He noted, however, that she said nothing against her vulgar, overeager, social climbing parents, and he found this reticence strangely to her credit, though the omission was as obvious as if it had been spoken. Yes, it was understandable that the lady found herself inclined to marry, however contrived the match.

  Lord Waverley resisted the urge to lean forward and kiss the soft, inviting lips that were being nibbled, at present, by perfect, ice white teeth. Instead, he drew out her confidences a little further and surprised himself at his interest.

  “Had you no suitors prior to Bertram? I find that very difficult to credit, since you are hardly an antidote!”

  “Oh, there were suitors, but I turned them down, much to Mama’s—and even Papa’s—great annoyance.”

  “May I inquire why?” The viscount’s interest was piqued.

  “Oh, though they had rank, they were no more than fortune hunters and utterly humourless besides. I can countenance many shortcomings in a husband, but not, I believe, that! ” Miss Richmond made a face. The viscount just caught sight of a pink tongue before noticing how the impudent action lighted her features with a gay sparkle that he, who had seen her several times at formal occasions, would never have dreamed possible.

  “I can tell, then, why Bertram would have served your purpose. A more spirited sense of the ridiculous you could not possibly hope for. But tell me, what did the good Miss Townsend do when he so publicly offered for your hand?”

  Miss Richmond smiled. “She nearly fell into a dead swoon, of course, but happily was self-possessed enough not to make a dreadful spectacle. Sometimes she has more sense than she is credited for. Of course, as soon as I was able, I indicated that such a drastic solution to a pocketful of brambleberries was as bumble-headed as it was idiotish. She was grateful but sadly doubtful, and I still have to impress upon her that it is nonsense that Bertram and I should wed on such a flimsy basis. Why, I should not know a moment’s happiness!”

  The viscount’s eyes danced. “I should say not! And Bertram? He seems to have been remarkably silent through all of this.”

  Anastasia shook her head, impatient at the memory. “Unfortunately, the captain marched off before I was entirely disentangled, and Mama bundled me off at the first sign of my shocking want of conduct in not immediately accepting the proposal. I did eventually catch Bertram up, but he was deaf to all my pleas.”

  For an instant, the tips of the viscount’s very handsome lips curved upward. He was beginning to enjoy himself. Miss Anastasia Richmond, delightfully attractive, was slightly less retiring than he had thought. Also, she appeared to have a sense of fair play which, since the debacle of Miss Fallows, he had not expected to find in one of her sex. He looked at her curiously.

  “Is your mother furious?”

  “Oh, spitting livid! I should not say it perhaps, but she was very pleased with herself for wrangling such an eligible alliance. Though my fortune is prodigious, it was always thought that I should attract the eye either of an improvident peer or one of the merchant class. My mother, as you know, was a merchant’s daughter herself.”

  “Yes, I am aware.” Lord Waverley certainly was, for he had looked carefully into Anastasia’s credentials before selecting her for Bertram. Lady Richmond had been a sad blot on an otherwise spotless record. He had chosen to overlook it, for in truth there was no young candidate who was perfect, and at least Bertram had the advantage of childhood affection for the chit.

  For an instant, a memory that had lain dormant in his mind for some time flashed into his consciousness. He had the sudden vision of a pale, slender little maid in a royal blue dress and matching riband climbing carefully onto a dear, clean-smelling pony—a Shetland, if he recalled—with hair as burnished brown as its young owner’s. Bertie had been holding the reins but had dropped them to catch a butterfly in his net. The girl had lost her concentration to see and had taken a dreadful tumble on the grass. Though her little knees were horribly grazed, she had not cried, only clung to him—for he had scooped her up at once—and snuggled softly into his arms. He could not quite recall, but he thought he might have carried her home after that.

  She was looking at him now with wide, strangely luxurious eyes, and he wondered if she recalled the incident at all. Probably not, but memories played tricks. Twenty years on at least and he could recall her softness with vivid accuracy. He wondered if she would melt into him now, as she had done so unthinkingly then. Suddenly, he wanted very much to try. He took a step forward, then stopped himself short. Whatever could he be thinking of? And was it his imagination, or was she staring at him with an intentness that caused the atmosphere to charge to a tension he had not expected to feel again?

  He picked up her fan and played with it idly.

  “Is she still angry?”

  “Who—my mother?”

  Lord Waverley nodded.

  “Oh, undoubtedly. She plans to hold me to this betrothal, if I might call it such, for as she repeatedly tells me, otherwise I will have committed the dual sin of compromising myself to no avail and ruining all possibility of an eligible connection.”

  “Not necessarily.” The viscount surprised himself with the vehemence of his words. They seemed to have rolled off his tongue without being invited to do so.

  “I have already told you, my lord, that I shall not marry Bertie!” Anastasia tried to be patient, but there was something so compelling about his eyes that she felt a fluttering in her chest. Why did she get the dizzying notion that they were no longer speaking of Bertie? She felt light-headed as she stretched out her arm to reclaim her fan. When the viscount returned it, their gloved hands touched briefly. Though there was doeskin and satin between them, Anastasia was more intensely aware of him in that moment than she had ever been of anyone in a lifetime. She fiddled with the clasp, and gasped aloud at the viscount’s next words.

  “Who said anything of Bertram?”

  She unfurled the fan and dropped her eyes, not quite daring to match the quiet intensity of his gaze. Surely, surely, she must be mistaking his meaning! The viscount was an incomparable; it was as natural as breathing for him to be charming. He probably had no notion of the sudden, head-spinning effect he was having upon her. With a sigh, she dismissed her suspicions as groundless.

  “There is no one else suitable, my lord, who has paid the slightest interest in my bountiful charms. I have already told you that.”

  “Ah, yes. The humourless fortune hunters. No one else?”

  Anastasia shook her head mournfully, though the viscount noted at once the irrepressible dimple peeking out from rose-hued cheeks. So! The unusual Miss Richmond was not without humour herself

  “No one, I am afraid. I am sad to have to report, sir, that I am practically on the shelf!”

  “Practically is not the same as actually, Miss Richmond!”

  “You talk in riddles.”

  “Do I?” He regarded her with such a strange mixture of avidity and self-mocking cynicism that Anastasia was startled from her self-imposed composure. Again, there was that tightening in her stomach and the heady sensation that she was missing something quite outrageously important. There was no way around it. She would have to tax the viscount on his meaning, for, though veiled, it seemed unmistakable enough. She dared not read to much into it, though, for fear of vast, untillable loneliness. Strange that losing Bertram had not had such an effect on her.

  “You cannot meant that . . . that . . .”

  The viscount looked at her closely. Then he took her chin in his hands.

  “Why not, Miss Richmond? Since Bertram cannot, unfortunately, oblige, I shall offer you the next best thing. I shall marry you myself.”

  Anastasia was still gaping when Lady Richmond swept into the room. Her hair was piled high upon her head and billowing out little cream puffs of curls, all set rigidly in place with the help of layers of pins and other contrivances designed for just such a purpose. Her face was powdered white, but she had taken care to thoroughly rouge her cheeks for the occasion, so she could by no means be described as pale.

  The viscount blanched, for he was a man of natural sensibility and found the spectacle unnerving. Still, he recovered his poise sooner than most gentleman of his acquaintance would have, and stepped forward politely.

  “Lady Richmond, a thousand apologies for dropping in on you at such a time. I had not thought still to be here so close to the dinner hour . . .”

  In spite of her odd predicament, Anastasia could not help admiring him. At one and the same time he mollified her mother whilst drawing attention to the unconscionable length of time he had been kept waiting. Adroit, very adroit!

  Unfortunately, Lady Richmond was not one for subtleties.

  “Well, if you are expecting an invitation to dinner, sir, you are far out! There is nothing more than a smidgen of pheasant, and besides, you can take yourself off to an inn. If you have come here to plead for your brother, you are far out. Whatever my wayward daughter may say, she shall be married.” With a dramatic gesture, she announced in stentorian tones that “No amount of money could possibly compensate me for the loss of my dear daughter’s reputation.”

  “I never said it could.”

  “Then you have not come here to buy us off?” Lady Richmond set down with some surprise the china kitten she had just taken up.

  “Absolutely not.” The viscount surveyed her with some distaste. He ordered his features, however, for he did not wish to distress Anastasia with a scene. For some inexplicable reason, he felt protective of her.

  “Good. I shall have the banns posted at once. Now, no more sulks, Anastasia! You hear what the good viscount says! ”

  “Just a moment, ma’am.”

  Lady Richmond glared at him. “You cannot go back on your word now, my lord!”

  “I shall not. I merely wish to clarify matters a trifle. Anastasia shall be married, but not, I am afraid, to Captain Ralston. His affections, I am told, lie elsewhere.”

  “Well!” Lady Richmond spluttered. “Well! I will have you know, sir, that Anastasia is not a common parcel to be passed hither and thither! And who, pray, is the gentleman you have in mind? I trust, of course, that he is a gentleman?”

  The viscount ignored the high colour on Anastasia’s cheeks. More than ever, he felt confirmed in his decision. Miss Richmond should not have to live a moment longer with this harridan, parent or not.

  “Indeed, I hope so, ma’am. I can vouch for him absolutely.” He was rewarded by the light he saw reenter Anastasia’s eyes. Good girl! She was amused.

  “Well, that is all very well, but what I say, sir—”

  The viscount was never to know what Lady Richmond had to say—or not in this instance, at least, for the dinner gong rang at precisely that moment, drowning out her undoubted invective.

  “Well?” Lady Richmond glared at him and pointed with her stick. The viscount understood, all of a sudden, why Lord Richmond was said to practically haunt his clubs. Home must be hell.

  “Well, what?”

  “Well, stop winking at my daughter—yes, I saw that, sir, and I must tell you that your behaviour is abominable—and tell me who this suitor shall be. If it is not a respectable connection, Anastasia shall have Bertram. That is my final word on it.”

  “Very well, ma’am. I respectfully present myself for review.”

  “You? Stop funning this instant, sir, before I have your carriage called round myself!”

  “I am not funning, Lady Richmond. Pending Miss Richmond’s approval, of course, I shall make application to Lord Richmond upon the instant.”

  “Well!” Lady Richmond was speechless as she reached for her sal volatal. “Well!” After a little more along these lines, she finally recalled herself to her senses, drew herself up straight, curtsied graciously, babbled endlessly, and grabbed the viscount’s arm in a viselike grip he did not even care to try to extricate himself from.

  “Oh, Andrew,” she gushed, tapping him playfully with her stick. “You shall lead me in to dinner. You shall stay, of course, for Cook has rustled up the most heavenly buttered lobster with oyster cream sauce. You will enjoy it prodigiously, for it is prepared exactly to my directions. . .”

  Lord Waverly cast an anguished glance at his unexpected affianced. She winked back with the most remarkable insouciance and announced that she would just “fetch out Miss Townsend.” Then, with a sudden skip to her normally very proper step, Miss Richmond left him most cruelly to his fate.

  SIX

  Dinner was a strange affair, for Lord Waverly was not used to being surrounded by a bevy of females, all of whom—except, perhaps, the more reticent Miss Richmond—were eyeing him with lively interest. Anastasia must have hinted to Miss Townsend of what was about to occur, for that young lady by no means sported the pallor and die-away airs that Lord Waverley had fully expected. Indeed, she tucked into the lobster with gusto, announced herself “very pleased indeed” to make the viscount’s acquaintance, and proceeded to surreptitously dig Anastasia in the ribs on every occasion that he happened to glance at her.

  Anastasia, on the other hand, was far quieter, her lovely gray eyes sparkling with just the hint of tears. The viscount had the peculiar desire to damn the company to perdition, take her in his arms, and kiss her tears away. He was certain that she was now beset with uncertainties, doubting his intentions, wondering, perhaps, why he should have taken so bold a step. He had surprised himself—it was only natural that she, too, should be astonished. He hoped that reassurance was all the lady needed. The uncomfortable thought had just struck him that he had never given her a chance to say no, for in his desire to knock the wind out of Lady Richmond’s blustering sails, he had announced his intentions as a fait accompli.

  “May I say something?”

  “No, Anastasia, you may not. Leave all the details to me, if you please!” Lady Richmond picked up a gilded spoon and turned to Lord Waverley on her right. “Oh, you have no notion of how I have longed for such an event! Anastasia is forever reminding me of the time you rescued her from her poor pony . . .”

  Anastasia blushed crimson and stared at her plate. The viscount, a little amused, glanced her way but failed entirely to catch her eye. Miss Townsend, however, was indignant.

  “I thought you said yesterday that it was Captain Ralston who had rescued her.”

  “Bertram? What nonsense! The whole matter was his fault. I recall it perfectly.”

  Vivienne giggled, in high spirits. “I declare, Lady Richmond, you jest! Yesterday it was most certainly—”

  “Miss Townsend! Do you not have any chores to occupy yourself with?” Lady Richmond frowned at her crossly and set down her spoon. “Do take yourself off, and Anastasia too, if you please! The viscount and I have much to talk about.”

  Vivienne gestured to Anastasia and they both made their curtsies, despite Lord Waverley’s earnest urging of them to stay.

  Lady Richmond then held him in her thrall so long that he began seriously to doubt his actions. What could have possessed him to make so rash an offer? He, who had forsworn womankind, to propose marriage when he’d had no more pressing thought in his head than to buy the young woman off. He must have been seized by a sudden passing dementia! Not that Miss Richmond was not very comely in her own way, and he found, to his surprise, that her slight, lilting lisp was rather more attractive than off-putting. Still, a wedding on the scale Lady Richmond planned for him had been exactly the sort of agenda he had assiduously avoided since the fatal mistake of his youth.

  He wished Miss Richmond would return so that he might remember what it was that had given rise to this bizarre chivalrous impulse. Not, surely, the fact that she made his pulses quicken? Many a woman had done so in the past most satisfactorily. No, it was not purely his baser instincts at work here, despite Miss Richmond’s almost unconscious charms. What, then? Bertram would tease him heartily unless he could reason the matter out. He looked at Lady Richmond in veiled distaste. Oh, would she never, never stop talking?

  “Yes,” he nodded at her politely, for he was, after all, a gentleman. Had he but known it, another one hundred and fifty peers of the realm were instantly added to the guest list. Andrew returned to his pensive state. Lady Richmond thought he looked like a veritable god, for his face was immobile and his aquiline features were very much in the classical mode. She rather daringly said as much, fluttering her white, rather stubby lashes coyly. Fortunately for her, perhaps, Andrew did not hear her. He was lost in a reverie of his own.

  What was it, he wondered, that had made him throw caution, reason, even sense to the wind? He waved away a tray of macaroons and thought on the matter whilst Lady Richmond went on about trousseaus and bridal gifts.

  It was Miss Richmond’s smile! True, he had not glimpsed it often, but when he had, it had been dazzling, causing her cheeks to glow and animation to creep into her eyes like little fairy lanterns. Perhaps its rarity itself made it a precious prize to seek. But no!

  The viscount slapped his thigh vigorously, much to Lady Richmond’s genteel surprise. Happily, he was oblivious to her sentiments, and it was not long before she was prattling on about settlements.

  No, it was not just her smile. Lord Waverly had been confronted, in his life, with many a pair of cherry-ripe lips. It was more than that . . . Andrew mused over the lady he’d only just met, for the past could not be counted; she had been a mere child then. Perhaps it was her obvious candour, her complete lack of guile.

  The viscount thought of Lady Araminda Tarradale and went stiff. She had not been guileless. He must beware, lest he fall into a similar trap. His eyes shuttered for an instant, but when they opened again, they were clear.

 

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