An Infamous Proposal (3 page)

The fact was, she wanted to marry him. Beneath the annoyance and surprise, he felt a little glow of pride or pleasure. It wasn’t every evening that a gentleman received an offer of marriage from a beautiful young heiress.

Of course, it was incredibly farouche of her to have put the offer to him herself, but as an offer, it was hardly offensive. At three and thirty Hansard was at an age when he often thought of marriage, but he planned to choose his own bride—and she wouldn’t be a spoiled beauty of low breeding. He didn’t love Emma, nor she him. She just wanted to make a good match. His title was but another step up her ladder of self-advancement. He had thought she would head straight for London. Perhaps she preferred to tackle Society from the unassailable position of Lord Hansard’s lady.

By the time he reached home, he half regretted his rough refusal. His teasing manner with her in the past, always when John was in the room to remove any air of impropriety, must have misled her. He might have let the chit down more gently. Emma really was very pretty and still green as grass. She’d marry the first handsome fortune hunter who came along—and saddle him with an unsavory neighbor.

The least he could do, for both their sakes, was import a suitable match for her. His mind sped over cousins and connections who were on the lookout for a well-dowered bride. It would be nice to have, say, Cousin James, at Whitehern. Lord James Philmore, his mama’s nephew, was in need of a fortune. Emma might not balk at James’s empty pockets when his face was so pleasing and his papa was an earl. It would raise her position in Society and assure her a Season in London.

Happy that he had hit on a solution, he wrote a note off to Lord James that very evening.

At Whitehern Emma stewed in embarrassment and anger. How could she have made such a fool of herself? How could Nick have let her? He had always seemed to like her, but beneath his suave manners, he had been laughing at her, despising her. “Marry
you?”
he had exclaimed, as if she were a yahoo. And after it all she was still faced with Aunt Hildegarde’s coming.

“Where is Miss Foxworth?” she asked Soames, when he came to remove her silk.

“She went to bed with the sniffles, madam. I fear she is coming down with a cold.”

“A cold!” Emma exclaimed, and smiled in delight.

The very thing! Aunt Hildegarde, that hypochondriac par excellence, would never visit a house infected with disease. Miss Foxworth’s cold must escalate to influenza or even pneumonia. When the pneumonia was conquered, say in a month, Aunt Hildegarde would hear that there was a smallpox scare in the village. Emma suddenly had a dozen ideas to put off the dreaded visit. Why had she thought she needed horrid Nicholas to rescue her? It had become too easy to send for him in all her little troubles. That was over now. She was a mature lady. She would look after herself. No more running to him with every little problem.

And if Hildegarde insisted on coming despite all, she would find her niece a changed person. Why should Lady Capehart take orders from Hildegarde in her own house? She was mistress here. It was time she began to act the role.

But when she was tucked under the counterpane that night, she felt grave misgivings about her ability to face up to Hildegarde. She also still felt a rankling disappointment at Nick’s blunt refusal. Did he not care for her even a little? How could she have been so mistaken about a thing like that? Ah well, no point shaving a pig. He was not interested, and she must find a new beau. Until she was safely shackled, the threat of visits from home would shadow her life.

Chapter Four

The next morning as he was going to his stable, Lord Hansard saw William Bounty riding through Emma’s park toward Whitehern. Bounty was Emma’s neighbor on the west side and a friend of both Emma and himself. What invested this unexceptionable gentleman with an unaccustomed aura of interest that morning was Emma’s determination to marry.

If she had sent for Bounty to put her offer to him, he would have her in a minute! From the first moment Bounty had clapped an eye on Emma, he had been in love with her. He was an older widower who made no secret that he wanted another wife, since his first one had not given him an heir, but only a daughter, now married.

A cynical smile curved Hansard’s lips. Bounty would be disappointed to hear it was a marriage of convenience the widow was offering. Had she been serious about that? She hadn’t mentioned it at first. Did she really think any man with blood in his veins could share a house with her under such terms? Whatever her faults she was an exquisite-looking woman. She would make a better mistress than a wife. Hansard had always thought those bewitching, self-serving smiles and dimples were wasted on John.

He had his mare saddled up for a tour of his tenant farms, but as he discussed crops and herds and marling, he found his mind wandering back to Whitehern.

A little before noon he cut his business short and returned home. His eyes traveled west to the boundary of his land, with Emma’s lush acres spreading enticingly beyond—excellent land, with a large herd of prime milchers grazing in the sunlight. If it were to join his own, it would be the finest spread in Sussex.

Hansard’s housekeeper, Mrs. Denver, had been in Waterdown Hall as long as he could remember. She was a widowed distant cousin of small means. She didn’t take her meals with Hansard, but in every other way, she was considered as family. She often took coffee with him after his meal to discuss household doings. She did so that day after lunch.

“I saw Bounty riding over to Whitehern this morning,” he said, and looked for her reaction. “There was no announcement?” Emma’s kitchen maid was keeping company with one of his footmen. If a wedding had been announced, the news would have reached Waterdown by now.

“What sort of announcement? You don’t mean Lady Capehart is selling Whitehern! Oh, I would be sorry to lose her.”

“No, I thought there might be a match in that quarter.”

She looked at him in astonishment. “Surely not! She can do better than that. She will soon be snapped up, but it won’t be William Bounty who gets her. I have often thought you and she might come to terms. It seemed a natural thing, the right thing,” she said. “Time to settle down, milord.”

He recognized this as a reference to Mrs. Pettigrew. This dasher had moved to the neighborhood three years before. As he had known her in London when she was under Lord Quarter’s patronage, he had called on her a few times. Before long he realized the lady was interested in marriage. Since then his visits were limited to her large parties.

“Mrs. Pettigrew is a friend, nothing more.”

Mrs. Denver spoke on of Emma, praising her good nature, her looks, and her fortune.

“She is certainly eligible,” he agreed, with growing frustration. It was not only Mrs. Denver who realized Emma’s eligibility. Every Benedict for miles around was aware of it. Emma realized it herself. She was chomping at the bit. “In fact, I posted a note to Lord James this very morning.”

Mrs. Denver said, “Lady Capehart would like the noble connection, and you could keep an eye out to see that Lord James doesn’t run amok.” That addendum was a reminder that while Lord James was a handsome fellow, he was no serious one.

A moment later she said, “Is it her being a widow that you dislike?”

“Not in the least. Between ourselves, the lady is an idle, vain, provincial fribble. She has no interest in serious or cultural matters.”

“She’s young yet. You’ll not find many bluestockings hereabouts,” Mrs. Denver said, then spoke of household matters.

Nick felt dissatisfied after their chat. Was he being foolishly demanding in his requirements for a bride? Perhaps with training, Emma might do him proud after all. He ought to have taken time to think over her offer. “Lord, I sound like a lady!” he said to himself. But he had done right to reject her offer. A lady who proposed to a gentleman surely passed the bounds of acceptable behavior.

Still, he would drop in at Whitehern and apologize for his brusqueness the evening before. If Bounty had accepted her, she would be sure to fling it in his face. Hansard took a brace of partridge as an excuse. Since John’s death he often took her game for her dinner. She had given him free shooting at Whitehern. That was generous of her. She really was a generous sort of girl.

At three o’clock that afternoon he posted over to Whitehern, where he was told that Lady Capehart had taken a book to the gazebo. It was a favorite spot of Emma’s on a fine day. From the crest of the hill, she could see the road leading to London. Deeply engrossed in her book when Hansard passed, she didn’t see him.

He came upon her unawares and stopped for a moment to gaze at her. Shafts of sunlight filtered through the vine-covered roof, sprinkling her head and shoulders with dancing beads of light. She was still dressed in black, but wore a violet shawl over her shoulders to soften the mourning effect. One finger played with her curls in an endearingly childlike manner. Surely this girl was too innocent to have made her offer out of self-interest. John’s aging spaniel, Rusty, sat dozing at her feet. Rusty discerned the approach of an intruder and set up a spate of barking. Emma looked up to see who it was.

There was no ignoring the scowl that seized her mobile features. Her lips formed into a pout, and her chin lifted at a challenging angle.

“Nicholas,” she said coolly, all childishness slipping from her. It was a hostile young lady who greeted him. But at least she hadn’t called him “Lord Hansard” in that arctic way.

“Good day, Emma,” he said, ignoring her mood. “I brought you some partridges for dinner. I left them with Soames. He told me I might find you here.”

“A peace offering wasn’t necessary, but I thank you.”

He entered the gazebo uninvited and sat down on an uncomfortable wooden seat. “A lovely day,” he said, glancing out at the sun-drenched park, dappled with shade from spreading elms and oak, with a sprinkling of copper beeches to add variety. In the near distance, the weathered brick of Whitehern rose impressively.

“Yes. Miss Foxworth has taken cold so I cannot drive out.”

This mixture of propriety and self-interest was typical of Emma. He never knew quite what to make of her.

“I hope you had some callers to lighten the tedium of being alone?” he asked.

She leveled a stern gaze on him. “I don’t find my own company tedious, Nicholas. If you find me boring, pray do not feel obliged to remain. You will be relieved to hear I have no commissions for you today.”

Emma could be selfish, frustrating, flighty, and thoroughly annoying. She could also be charming, amusing, and generous. “I never find beautiful ladies tedious,” he replied. “What I was trying to discover, in my roundabout way, was whether you had offered for Bounty. I saw him calling on you.”

“That old snuff dipper!” After her first outburst, she took a few deep breaths to control her temper. It did not surprise Nick that she failed. When she spoke again, her voice held a wintry tinge of frost.

“No, I did not make Mr. Bounty an offer—nor Soames, nor my bailiff or head groom. I decided to put a notice in the journals instead: ‘Desperate widow seeks husband, preferably under ninety years. Must have four limbs, some hair, and a few teeth. Direct inquiries to Whitehern, Sussex.’ You will see it in tomorrow’s
Morning Observer.”

Nick’s lips moved unsteadily. “I take your point,” he said, “but I feel you do Bounty an injustice to include him among the octogenarians.”

“Do you feel you do my discrimination justice to imply I would offer for a gentleman who is fifty if he’s a day and has a daughter older than I am?”

Hansard seldom blushed, but he did feel a little heat about the ears. “I feared the circumstance of your aunt Hildegarde’s imminent visit might have pitched you into unusual behavior.”

“It did,” she said, and met his gaze coolly. “After your categorical refusal, I am not likely to repeat my error.”

“I apologize for last night. I was a little surprised—”

“No, Nick, you were gasping in shock, like my old mare Belle with the heaves.” Emma realized that this unbuttoned conversation was displeasing Nick and added politely, “I want to thank you for rescuing me from making a wretched mistake by refusing me last night. I realize we would not have suited in the least. I have decided that I shan’t marry until I meet some gentleman I can esteem—as you gentlemen say, since you are afraid of the word
love.
Meanwhile, I can look after myself.”

“You have braced yourself for Hildegarde’s visit, then?” he asked lightly. This had always seemed an excuse to him.

“Miss Foxworth has a cold. Aunt Hildegarde is a practicing hypochondriac. She won’t come when there is illness in the house. Miss Foxworth will be in no rush to recover, I promise you.”

“Very sly, Emma.”

“I have the disadvantage of being a lady. We must use our wits to save ourselves as custom and the law give all the authority to the gentlemen. Had you proposed to me, it would have been considered right and proper. And by the way, about last night...”

“Let us agree it didn’t happen,” he said dismissingly.

“We can’t sweep an elephant under the carpet. It happened, and there is just one other thing I ought to have explained last night, only I was so nervous when you pokered up like an outraged spinster that it slipped my mind. I quite forgot about Mrs. Pettigrew. Naturally I did not mean you would have to break with her, for, of course, I meant only a marriage of convenience.”

“Very flattering. I understood you meant possibly no marriage at all. If I recall aright, there was some talk of your jilting me.”

“Yes. Perhaps you would have gone along with my scheme if you had known my true intention?” she asked daringly.

“That would certainly have made it more palatable,” he replied, and watched as her jaw squared in anger. “But then I have my own reputation to consider as well. Folks would be bound to wonder why you broke it off. I would be castigated as either a monster of depravity or some other sort of scoundrel.”

“Or Lady Capehart would be called a jilt, no better than she should be,” she pointed out.