An Infamous Proposal (6 page)

“You are a complete hand, Nick! Here I thought you were going to read me a scold.”

“This is a scold. I dislike to see incompetent lying. If a thing is worth doing, it’s worth doing right.”

“Very edifying advice for you to be giving a young widow,” she teased, with a smile that brought out the dimples at the corners of her lips. “What do you, as an accomplished liar, recommend to a tyro like myself?”

He accepted this ambiguous speech in good grace. “A leaking roof, ill-fitting windows that are being replaced. Either of those could see you through the better part of the summer. And who knows, by then you might very well have found your biddable, versatile husband, who is at home in either city or country.”

“I don’t see how I shall meet him if I don’t get to London, and for longer than a few days. I know all the local gentlemen. There isn’t a good match in the lot of them.” Nick lifted an eyebrow in mock dismay. She patted his knee and gave an easy smile. “Present company is always excepted, Nick. You have already refused me. You had your chance—you shan’t have another.”

“Bite your tongue, Lady Capehart! Not from you, perhaps. I take leave to tell you, you’re not the only fish in the sea. I am expecting an offer from the Dowager Countess of Reeves any day now. Why else has she asked me to sell her carriage and team for her? She plans to plunk her ancient bones in my rig. It is an obvious ploy. She’ll get me into her study, ply me with brandy, and press an offer of marriage on me.”

“And here you tried to tell me it was not the thing for a lady to offer! Why, the dowager is top of the trees. Her son is in the cabinet.”

“That’s her grandson. Her son is only a lowly back bencher.”

He was glad to see they could laugh about Emma’s proposal. It seemed to have brought them closer together.

“I had a letter from my cousin Lord James Philmore this morning,” he said a moment later. “He’ll be stopping at Waterdown for a few weeks. I’ll have a party for him, perhaps a rout party.”

She gave him a knowing look. “How convenient. Lord James—that would be a younger son?”

“Yes, his papa is Lord Revson, an eminent Tory.”

“And has Lord James an estate of his own?”

“No,” he admitted, “but some expectations from an uncle.”

“Another penniless gentleman in other words.”

“No, a penniless nobleman.”

“I am not a title chaser, Nick.”

“It confers a few social advantages,” he said. “I can assure you James is equally at home in either town or country. He spends every Season in London at his papa’s mansion on Berkeley Square. Naturally his wife would do the same. James is tip of the ton.”

Emma listened, her interest rising. “Biddable?” she asked.

“Within reason, I believe. You wouldn’t want a mere pup.”

“What does he look like?” she asked.

“I would say rather handsome, except that he is said to resemble myself. Picture him looking like me, only younger and handsome.”

Emma examined her guest, trying to imagine him younger and more handsome. “When is he coming?”

“You were supposed to say I am handsome, Emma! Really, you must work on your flirting skills if you mean to tackle London.”

“Oh, pardon me. You are handsome, Lord Hansard,” she said perfunctorily. “When is Lord James coming?”

“In a few days’ time.” He scowled playfully. “It would help if you could put a little enthusiasm into your niggardly compliments. I shall be introducing James to the local Society at the party. Wear your prettiest frock. The competition will be fierce.”

“I thought you said he resembled you?”

Nick took a deep breath. “Lo, how the mighty have fallen,” he murmured. “Proposals one evening, insults the next.”

“We have agreed to forget that proposal!”

“I do try, but I find it keeps coming back—” Emma looked at him with interest. “Like a toothache,” he added.

“Try oil of cloves. I hope you don’t have the party while I’m in London!”

“Why do you not put off the trip until after the party?”

“We haven’t set a definite time.” Emma was less eager for the trip since she had learned Derek was so shabby. “Very well, we shall wait until after your rout. It will be my first party since John’s death. I shall feel nervous as a deb.”

He lifted his glass and examined Emma over the rim. “Don’t worry. You’ll be the prettiest lady there.” She gave him a little smile, then he added blandly, “I shan’t invite the Lawry girls, or Miss Blenkinsop, or—”

“Or the Dowager Countess of Reeves.”

“Oh, I must invite her. Isn’t it nice that you’ve found someone other than William Bounty with whom you can have some intelligent conversation, Emma?” he asked facetiously. “We were not used to being so intellectual in our little tête-à-têtes.”

“Very true. You were used to flirt with me, when I was safely married to John. Well, it is my own fault, after all, for frightening you. And now we must return to the saloon. We cannot leave Miss Foxworth alone all evening.”

He put on a face of mock alarm. “Do you think it’s safe?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m pretty sure she has her eye on me as well. Don’t leave me alone with her.”

“That offer went to your head, Nick. One would think you had never been courted before.”

He rose and lifted her fingers to his lips. “Never by such an Incomparable—until I met the Dowager Countess, of course.”

She wrenched her hand free and strode out the door, hiding her smile behind stiff shoulders.

Chapter Seven

Derek Hunter had still not returned when Emma retired at midnight. His bleary eyes, when he came to the breakfast parlor the next morning, suggested he had been out late and drinking hard. Immediately after breakfast he asked Emma out to ride, mentioning that his Arabian gelding should be here by now. As this imaginary horse had not appeared, he rode the late Sir John’s mount. As they cantered through her meadows and pastures, he pressed on her the changes that would be required to turn Whitehern into a stud farm.

“I’m really not at all interested in that, Mr. Hunter,” she said firmly.

When they stopped by the pond to rest, Mr. Hunter showed her to a grassy surface and dropped down beside her. He removed his curled beaver and gazed out over her land with a proprietary eye. He saw not a rich, thriving dairy farm, with a new crop of calves insuring future prosperity, but a stud farm manqué. The location, too, was excellent. There wasn’t a good stud farm in this southeastern corner of England.

Emma admired him, as he admired her estate. His platinum hair and blue eyes had never looked more delightful. He turned and saw her gazing at him. It was all the encouragement he required. Before she could stop him, he had seized her hand and began pressing compliments on her.

“So beautiful, so unspoiled.”

She wrenched her hand away. “Really, Mr. Hunter! You mustn’t say such things.”

“Let me speak my heart, Emma. You’re just the sort of game chick I always hoped to find. I think you and I would deal very well. You know all about me from Aunt Miriam. It’s not as though we’re strangers, after all. I wouldn’t have spoken so soon, but it happens I met a fellow last night who has an excellent Arab stud up for sale. He’s only asking a thousand pounds for him.”

“A thousand pounds!”

“Incredible, isn’t it? He’s worth two or three times that. It happens that I’m a little short at the moment, just until next quarter day. I wouldn’t borrow from you unless there was an understanding between us.” He recaptured her fingers and squeezed them in a paralyzing grip, while his sapphire orbs gleamed into hers. “You know what I mean. Naturally I’ll repay you every sou.”

“No, really, Mr. Hunter, I am not at all interested.” She managed to free her fingers. They ached from his grip.

“Dash it, where’s your imagination, Emma? It’s the chance of a lifetime.”

“The chance of your lifetime, perhaps. Not mine. I must tell you, Mr. Hunter, I have no intention of marrying a man I met only three days ago, nor of turning a very profitable dairy farm into a place to lose money breeding horses. I hope I have not misled you into thinking I am interested in anything of the sort.”

“But Aunt Miriam said—”

“Your aunt reads a good deal of romantic fiction,” Emma said firmly, and rose to brush off her skirts.

He drew himself slowly to his feet, gazed once more over the estate, and uttered a deep, heartfelt sigh.

Emma felt Mr. Hunter would be leaving that same day. It meant losing out on the trip to London, but after his proposal, the trip could not be anything but embarrassing. He would either be in a huff or take advantage of the enforced proximity to press his offer forward again. She hardly knew which would be worse.

Mr. Hunter took a more optimistic view of matters. He knew he had lost out on Emma’s fortune and his dream of a stud farm, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t pass a few weeks in the lap of luxury at Whitehern without expense. He mentally abandoned the trip to London. It was bound to cost him money—have to entertain the ladies a little. And besides, there were people there who would be dunning him for unpaid bills.

“You have spoken. We’ll say no more about it. Still, no reason we can’t be friends,” he said, his good humor unimpaired. “Aunt Miriam mentioned Hansard is having a little do. He would be offended if I darted off before it takes place.”

Emma had told Miss Foxworth of the party. Miss Foxworth had apparently told her nephew, but why he should think Nick would be offended if he didn’t come was a mystery.

“Suit yourself,” Emma replied. “I’m sure Miss Foxworth’s nephew is always welcome at Whitehern.”

His pearly teeth flashed in the sunlight. “That’s dashed decent of you, Emma.”

It was another proposal that seemed to bring Emma closer to the other participant. Hunter and Emma were soon on a first-name basis. Now that he didn’t have to keep up a facade, he relaxed and enjoyed himself. When he wasn’t riding John’s horse—the tale of the Arabian gelding was heard no more—he was flying about the countryside in his curricle. In the evenings he usually went into the village to spend a few hours drinking and playing cards with new friends at the local tavern. He always made friends quickly. He even visited Lord Hansard a few times, storing up anecdotes to impress his acquaintances when he returned to London.

Nick called on Emma the evening after Mr. Hunter’s proposal to give her the invitations to his rout party. Hunter was out, but Emma was glad to see there was an invitation for him as well. She felt sorry for Hunter’s hand-to-mouth existence, but as he enjoyed himself so much, she didn’t have to feel too sorry. Miss Foxworth was in the saloon. If she had heard of her nephew’s setback, she kept it to herself. She sat with her nose in a book as usual, paying no attention to the caller after greeting him.

“I’ll bring young James over to meet you the afternoon before the rout, to give you the inside track,” Nick said, as he handed Emma the invitations.

“You feel I have to be handicapped, do you?”

“Spoken like a racetrack tout, Lady Capehart. I see Hunter has been at you with his schemes. Have you succumbed to the blandishment of Ascot?”

“Certainly not. I refused his offer.”

“He’s already offered!”

“Well, I think marriage was included in his offer to run my stud farm for me,” she replied.

“No grass growing under Mr. Hunter’s boots! One would think an experienced rider would know better than to rush his fences. Has he left Whitehern, then?”

“Oh, no. He will be happy to attend your soiree. I seem to get along well with all the partners in my proposals, whether rejecter or rejectee. Which reminds me, how is the Dowager Countess of Reeves doing, Nick?”

He shook his head sadly. “I didn’t get my offer after all. She found someone else to sell her carriage and team for her, after leading me on shamelessly, the wanton hussy.”

“There is still Miss Foxworth,” Emma said supportively.

Miss Foxworth looked up at the mention of her name. “What’s that you say, Emma?”

Emma gave a guilty start. It was Lord Hansard who replied. “Emma was just saying you will be attending my little rout party,” he said.

“Oh, indeed, I shall. Derek is looking forward to it.” Her social duty done, she smiled and returned her attention to the perils of her heroine.

“You haven’t been practicing your lying technique, Lady Capehart,” Nick said severely. “You were shaken by your chaperon’s question.”

“Not been practicing? You should have seen the letter I wrote to Papa this very day. My roof is in a shocking state. Not only the lead surface but the subfloor must be replaced. The roofer says it will take a couple of months—and a deal of banging and mess.”

“You’re coming along,” he complimented. “Written lies are only the first step, however. Your first-class liar can look his companion in the eye and tell a whisker without blushing.”

“Then there is no point pestering you for further details of that cousin you are trying to palm off on me. I doubt Lord James has any expectations at all. He is probably ugly as sin into the bargain.”

“No, he doesn’t really look that much like me.”

“Oh, but you’re handsome as can stare, Nick!” A surprised smile alit on his swarthy features. “Am I improving?” she asked archly. “Yes, I think you actually swallowed that plumper,” she said, and enjoyed a good laugh at his expense.

“I shall be taking lessons from you in no time. It never pays to teach a fish to swim.”

“Are you saying that ladies are natural-born liars?”

“I would never be so foolhardy as to tell a lady the truth. I only infer that they have an uncommon aptitude for prevarication. And now let us talk sense. What is the status of the trip to London with Hunter?”

“We haven’t mentioned it since the proposal. I rather think it’s off, unfortunately.”

Nick swallowed his relief and said, “Ah, pity. Perhaps we can set something up with James.”

“Let us see how he and I rub along first. Your notion and mine of what constitutes a handsome, conversable gentleman may be at odds.”

Before he could reply there was a knock at the door. William Bounty had chosen that evening to drop in on Emma. That he was wearing his best evening jacket and carrying a big bouquet of roses from his garden suggested that it was a courting visit. He looked disappointed to find Lord Hansard there.