The Viscount's Betrothal Read online

‘If I didn’t know any better,’ Decima ventured, ‘I would say you were jealous.’

  She expected him to deny it. Instead he swung round to face her. ‘I am. I am in love with Olivia.’

  ‘But…but you hardly know her! Henry, you cannot be, surely?’

  ‘She is the other half of me,’ he said vehemently. ‘I looked into her eyes and there it was. When I held her in my arms, danced with her, then I knew.’

  ‘What does she feel?’ Decima found it difficult to form the sentence, she felt so breathless.

  ‘I cannot be certain—trust me, I said nothing, of course—but I am sure she felt an affinity, a liking.’

  ‘Henry, you cannot pay court to her,’ Decima protested.

  ‘I know it.’ He took a vehement stride away, then spun round to face her. ‘Unless she breaks off the engagement to Weston, my hands are tied. To do anything else would be dishonourable.’

  ‘What a coil,’ she said miserably. ‘I love him, you love her—and whatever it is they feel, I cannot believe it is a love match between them. What are we going to do?’

  ‘Do you want to go back to Norfolk, Decima?’

  ‘We cannot. We must stay and support your mama and Caro.’

  ‘You could go.’

  ‘I am not running away. And in any case…’ she tucked her arm affectionately through his again and began to walk on ‘…I am not leaving you to be miserable. After all, who else is there for you to talk to about this?’

  They walked in silence for perhaps twenty minutes, then turned back towards Green Street. ‘We must avoid them both,’ Henry said resolutely as they approached his front door. ‘Heaven knows, there’s society and diversions enough in town without us needing to run up against two people.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Decima agreed. A carriage passed them and drew up at the steps. ‘I wonder who that is?’

  ‘The frustration of a sensible resolution,’ Henry replied grimly as the footman opened the door and set down the step for Olivia Channing to alight.

  Chapter Seventeen

  ‘Miss Ross, Sir Henry, good morning.’ Olivia regarded them shyly from under the brim of an enchanting blue bonnet. ‘I am glad I found you at home, I was a little worried this was a trifle early to call.’

  ‘Allow me.’ Henry ushered her up the front steps and was rewarded by a sweet smile and a blush. Decima cast her eyes skywards and followed. ‘May I offer you refreshment, Miss Channing? I am not sure where my mother and sister are…’

  The butler emerged from the shadows to relieve the ladies of their outer garments. ‘Her ladyship and Miss Caroline have gone shopping, Sir Henry. They have taken the barouche.’

  ‘It was Miss Ross I came to see,’ Olivia confided, allowing herself to be seated in the salon. ‘It is just that Mama and I had tickets for a private view at the Wolverton Gallery—some newly arrived studies from the artist’s tour of the continent, you understand—and now Mama has to take Cousin Jane to the dentist. She has an abscess.’

  ‘Very painful,’ Decima murmured, wondering just why this concerned them.

  ‘Very. And Cousin Jane—she is Mama’s companion, you see—is frightened of dentists, despite Mama telling her that all it requires is a little resolution on her part. So Mama is going with her, to stiffen her resolution.’

  ‘Indeed?’ Decima felt she would rather face a dozen dentists alone than have Mrs Channing as supporter.

  ‘So I wondered if you would like to come to the showing this afternoon,’ Olivia finished, finally coming to the point.

  ‘Would you not rather go with Lord Weston?’ Decima enquired, carefully turning back the cuffs of her gown, which had become slightly crumpled.

  ‘I did think he might enjoy it, but I have three cards, and I remembered you were interested in art, Miss Ross.’

  ‘That’s very thoughtful of you, to recall that after so many years. And, please, will you not call me Decima? I would enjoy seeing the show, but I am certain Lord Weston would wish to accompany you.’

  ‘He says he cannot come today. Then, when I said I was going to ask you, he suggested that I also ask Sir Henry, as he said he would feel happier if I had a gentleman with me, rather than just a footman. He said you were rather a high stickler, Miss…Decima, I mean, and would no doubt feel more comfortable as well.

  ‘And as soon as he suggested it, I recalled what you had said last night, Sir Henry, about having enjoyed the Grand Tour, so…’ She came to a halt, rather out of breath with shyness. Decima thought she had never heard Olivia say so many words together before.

  But what on earth was Adam thinking about? Obviously he had not the slightest suspicion that Henry might entertain warm feelings for his fiancée. Perhaps he was worried about Olivia being alone with her in case she let something slip about their snowbound adventure, or perhaps his motives were exactly as Olivia had described them. And what the wretch was doing describing her as a high stickler she could not imagine, unless he thought that would reach Mrs Channing’s ears and stop her fussing.

  But, of course, after what Henry had just said, he would refuse. It was the only prudent thing to do.

  ‘How thoughtful of you, Miss Channing. I would be delighted. What time would you like to set out?’ Decima was too far away to kick him on the ankle, so instead she opened wide eyes at him. He smiled back ruefully as if to say, What can I do?

  Invent an appointment, you idiot, she thought, wondering if she should remind him that he had promised to escort his mother that afternoon or invent some other fib, but it was too late, Henry and Olivia were happily making arrangements for them to collect her at two thirty that afternoon.

  All Olivia’s qualms about an early visit appeared to have vanished as she chatted with Henry. Decima sat, willing her to go so that she could tell him exactly what she thought of his uncharacteristic lack of resolution, but all she could do was to sit there and provide the chaperonage she was certain Mrs Channing would be expecting.

  Finally Olivia left. ‘Henry Freshford! What do you think you are—’

  ‘A letter for you, Miss Ross.’ It was Starling, the butler, proffering her a silver salver.

  ‘Thank you. No, Henry.’ He was leaving in the butler’s wake. ‘Don’t you dare sneak away until I have rung a peel over your head for this!’

  ‘Who is the letter from?’ Henry appeared uneasy. As well he might, she fumed.

  ‘Charlton. Oh dear, I do hope nothing is wrong with Hermione.’

  ‘You had better open it. I won’t run away.’

  Decima slit the letter, unfolded it and began to read until she threw it down, fuming.

  ‘Bad news?’

  ‘The worst! No, no one is ill or dead, I do not mean that. But, Henry, he writes to say he is appalled that I have come jauntering up to London without informing him. It is misguided, extravagant and exactly what he might expect—I wonder he should sound so surprised, then!—and he and Hermione feel it their duty, at great inconvenience, to come up too and open the town house. Now, what can I do?’

  ‘You don’t have to do anything, do you?’ Henry asked. ‘He is no longer your trustee.’

  ‘But he will expect me to go everywhere with Hermione, and he will want to know exactly what I am doing and who I meet. And what about Adam?’

  ‘Well, as you are hardly carrying on a torrid affair with Weston, what is there for Charlton to concern himself with? If he meets him, he won’t be any the wiser about your little adventure—and Weston’s safely betrothed to Olivia.’

  ‘Which he won’t be if you carry on flirting with her,’ Decima retorted.

  ‘I am not flirting.’

  ‘You are certainly not doing anything about avoiding her, either. You are in love with her, she certainly enjoys your company—how much more contact will it take for her to feel something more?’

  They stared at each other in shocked silence, then Henry said slowly, ‘That would solve both our problems.’ The words seemed to hang in the space between them, then Henry shook his
head. ‘I should not even think it, let alone say it. It is dishonourable of me, almost as bad as if she was already his wife.’

  ‘Yes.’ Decima moved and took his hand, squeezing it, all her anger ebbing away. ‘It would be, and I know you would never countenance such a thing. And, in any case, Adam does not love me—or why would he have proposed to Olivia in the first place? He may not love her either, but that is beside the point. But, Henry, do be careful, for Olivia’s sake if nothing else.’

  If her companions were subdued when they collected her that afternoon, Olivia showed no sign of noticing. She chattered happily to Henry, innocently tucking her hand under his elbow as they walked around the exhibition and urging him to tell her which scenes he had viewed in real life and how well the artist had represented them.

  Decima went round dutifully behind them, gradually relaxing as she saw the effort Henry was making to treat Olivia with scrupulous detachment—even the most ferocious of chaperons could not have faulted his manner. Her heart bled for her friend and, in worrying about him, she found she could forget her own bruised heart.

  It seemed pointless trailing around in their wake; Henry seemed happy describing scenes in detail for Olivia, she hung wide-eyed on his every word and Decima was growing thoroughly bored with set-piece landscapes executed with little originality and less verve.

  With her feet hurting her more than her conscience, she sank down gratefully on one of the chaises provided by the gallery and let her unfocused eyes rest on an academic rendition of the Forum.

  ‘My dear Miss Ross, I do declare you are asleep.’ The softly chiding voice jerked her upright with a gasp. Adam was lounging elegantly on the chaise next to her.

  ‘Ah! You made me jump! No, of course I was not asleep, I was only—’

  ‘Resting your eyes?’ he enquired mockingly.

  ‘Certainly not. That is the sort of thing my grandmama says. I was resting my feet, if you must know. I find dawdling round an exhibition is more tiring than a good brisk walk, although why that should be I cannot imagine.’

  Oh, give me strength… Adam was looking particularly handsome. Positively edible, a wanton part of her mind commented, making her blush at the thought. And it was painfully stimulating to be bickering with him.

  ‘Such mediocre work would inspire an ache in every part of my body,’ he remarked, leaning back and giving her the opportunity to admire long legs in elegant pantaloons, a superb pair of Hessians and—not that any lady should notice—exceptionally well-muscled thighs. ‘You may well sigh,’ he added, happily unaware of her thoughts. ‘And doubtless you are going to reprove me for being the cause of you being here.’

  Decima struggled to get a grip on her reactions, if not her emotions. ‘I did wonder why, if you are here now, you did not escort Olivia in the first place,’ she responded tartly. ‘Not that I’m not delighted to have her company.’

  Adam sent a quizzical glance down the length of the gallery to where Olivia and Henry were in ardent debate over a vast canvas, but said nothing. Decima wrestled with a defensive remark and wisely decided to stay silent. But there was a subject upon which she could talk, quite unexceptionally, with Adam, and now was an ideal opportunity.

  ‘I wanted to ask you something,’ she began, swivelling on the chaise to look at him properly.

  ‘Yes?’ he murmured, catching the hand she was beginning to gesture with in his and holding it. His hand was warm and hard and somehow she could not find the resolution to free hers.

  ‘Has Bates said anything about Pru?’

  He grimaced. ‘What has she said?’

  ‘Oh, I declare this is as bad as trying to discuss it with Pru herself! Every time I venture a question about how things are developing she blushes and prevaricates and will not commit herself.’

  ‘Can you blame her?’ Adam regarded her with questioning grey eyes.

  ‘No, of course not. I don’t want to pry. Only I don’t believe she is happy, although they have been out of an evening together several times. I wonder if I should speak to Lady Freshford about allowing Pru to invite Bates into the servants’ hall. Perhaps it would help. What is your policy about followers?’

  ‘Good God, I don’t have such a thing! I leave that to my butler.’

  ‘But perhaps Bates would not care to apply to him for permission to bring in a friend—after all, he is outside staff and not under the butler’s authority.’

  ‘I don’t imagine Bates’s love life is being in any way inhibited by a lack of permission to take tea in the servants’ hall,’ Adam said impatiently. ‘He has his own rooms here, over the stable. He is a grown man who knows his own mind—he could be entertaining a troop of dancing girls there for all I know or care.’

  ‘You don’t care, do you?’ Decima burst out passionately.

  ‘Yes, I do.’ Adam’s grip on her hand tightened and she started, suddenly conscious of the impropriety. Somehow the gentle grasp had seemed so safe and unthreatening that she had simply relaxed into the comfort of it. Had anyone passed by and noticed? She tugged and Adam held on. ‘I care very much that he is happy, but I don’t agree that interfering is going to make things any smoother for them. Would you want Pru meddling in your love life?’

  What love life? Decima bit back the words before they could spill from her lips and glared at Adam. ‘Let go of my hand this instant, my lord. And I do not want to interfere—do you take me for some meddling matchmaker? I simply want to remove every obstacle from their path that I can. Don’t you feel that way about your friends?’

  ‘My friends all seem quite capable of ordering their own affairs, Decima,’ Adam said softly, his silver grey eyes resting on her mouth in a lingering look that made her heart thud painfully. ‘I would not welcome their interference in mine.’

  ‘No doubt you have your affairs all perfectly in order, my lord.’ Decima made sure the emphasis was pointed. ‘And I imagine that you have very little in your life to restrict you from doing precisely what you want, when you want—unlike your servants.’ She got to her feet and jerked her hand out of his clasp. ‘And I am equally sure your fiancée will be delighted to know that you have managed to get here after all.’

  ‘I wish you would stop calling me my lord,’ Adam complained, rising as she did and strolling languidly after her retreating figure. ‘And, Decima,’ he added, sotto voce, ‘if you do not slow down I am going to have to raise my voice to carry to you and I am sure you don’t want that.’ She stopped abruptly and glared at him. ‘Are you grinding your teeth?’

  ‘Yes, I am. I’m in a very bad mood, if you must know. Thoroughly blue devilled, although I doubtless should not use the expression. And you, my lord, are not helping in the slightest.’

  ‘An attack of the mulligrubs?’ He managed to look so innocently serious that Decima laughed aloud, suddenly back in the kitchen in Rutland being teased out of her sudden fit of depression.

  ‘I am afraid not, otherwise I could take myself off to the confectioners and indulge in a healing purchase of sweetmeats, just as your old nurse recommended.’ She linked her arm through his and allowed herself to be walked down the long room. ‘Unlike the mulligrubs, my bad mood has a number of very real causes.’

  ‘Tell me.’ She felt his arm close against his side, pressing her hand against warm cloth. Under her knuckles she fancied she could feel his heart beat, and her own tripped in response. Decima knew that to feel angry with Henry for failing to resist the chance to be with Olivia was being thoroughly hypocritical—she was being just as bad herself.

  ‘I am worried about Pru and Bates. Hen—A friend of mine is unhappy and there is nothing I can do to help, and, to crown it all, Charlton is coming to town.’

  ‘Wonderful! No, I don’t mean the troubles of Pru and your friend, but I will be intrigued to meet the legendary Charlton. I’m sure you have been slandering the man and he will prove to be a fire-eater whose wrath I must dread in case he ever finds out about our previous acquaintance.’

  ‘It woul
d serve you right if I cast myself upon his bosom and told him all about it,’ Decima said warmly.

  ‘All about it?’

  ‘I thought we were going to forget about that,’ Decima said, struggling to keep her voice under control. It was desperately unfair that this was a man with whom she felt she could talk about anything, and yet she was barred by honour and decency from exchanging all but the most superficial banter with him.

  ‘We may have agreed not to refer to it, and I apologise for doing so, but I most certainly did not promise to forget it, Decima.’ His voice was warm honey, seductively sweet in her ears.

  ‘I suggest that you do so,’ she riposted sharply in an undertone as they came up to the others. ‘Olivia, see who has managed to get here after all. Henry, come and show me your favourites.’

  She drew him away down the gallery, keeping up a flow of small talk until she judged they were safely out of earshot.

  ‘Why are you trembling?’ Henry demanded when they finally stopped in front of a large canvas of the Grand Canal in Venice. ‘Has Weston said something to upset you?’

  ‘Yes…no…I don’t know! Him just being here upsets me. I am worried that he might guess there is something between you and Olivia, and I am afraid he will guess how I feel about him. I want to be with him so much, but when I am all I can do is bicker and sound fractious.’

  Adam watched Decima while listening to Olivia’s animated explanation of how much she was enjoying the exhibition. ‘Sir Henry has been telling me all about Vienna, and Paris and the sites of Rome. He is so well-travelled, and describes things so vividly, I can almost imagine myself there.’ Adam could not recall her speaking to him with such freedom since their betrothal. ‘The heat and the smells and the romance of it all.’ She sighed, making the blonde ringlets on either side of her pansy-face bob charmingly. ‘I would so love to see it all for myself.’

  It pained him to snub her, but it was no part of his plan to have her think him sympathetic; he had too much ground to make up from the time he had spent listening to her recount her woes at the Longminster house party.