The Suitor (3 page)

He was not boorish. He proceeded to converse with her parents, asking them about their journey, hoping it had not been tedious. He apologized for bringing them away from London at a time when they—and Miss Dean—must have been enjoying the social entertainments of the Season. He hoped their stay at Middlebury Park and the company of friends would atone for what they would miss in town.

Viscount Darleigh was charming as well as handsome, and he had the uncanny ability to look in the direction of the person who was speaking almost as if he could see that person. He moved about with the aid of a cane but with surprising confidence. It was clear that he had learned how to cope with his blindness at least within the confines of his own home.

If circumstances had been different, Philippa admitted through the rest of the day, she might well have been happy to fall in love with Vincent Hunt, Viscount Darleigh.

But her heart was already taken.

She noticed a few interesting things about him, perhaps because she was observing him so closely, desperately hoping to find a way out of having to marry him.

He did not like being treated as a blind man. The solicitude with which his mother and sisters treated him annoyed him. She was not quite sure how she knew it, for he was careful to
smile at them and thank them each time they did something for him. But she
did
know it, just as she knew that he was irritated by the way their voices changed when they spoke to him. They spoke gently, as one would speak to a child or an invalid. They tended to use the same phrases rather frequently—
I understand
and
I do not mind
—to assure him that tending to him was no trouble at all. But Philippa could see his lips slightly thinning each time. It was bothersome to
him
, if not to them.

And the suspicion grew upon her as that first day and then the next went by that the idea of finding him a bride, of bringing
her
here for his approval, had not been his. He had five close female relatives—mother, grandmother, and sisters—all of whom clearly adored him and would give their lives for him if such a sacrifice were ever called for. They were smothering him. And now they wanted a wife for him so that
she
would smother him with love and care too.

Poor gentleman!

How could she escape becoming that wife?

How could she get back to London before Julian arrived there and left again? Had her letter reached him in time, before he left home? What if it had not? What would he think if he arrived in London and she was not there? They had waited two years. And happiness had been so nearly within their grasp at last. But
nearly
was not close enough.
There is many a slip twixt cup and lip
. She wished her grandmother had not always been so ready with those old adages.

The trouble was that the stay at Middlebury Park really was pleasant. It was pleasant to be treated as an adult at last, to be included in conversations, to have her comments and opinions both solicited and listened to.

But all too often she was pushed into Viscount Darleigh’s sole company, even if they were in a room with others, as they almost always were. Mama was always punctilious about her being properly chaperoned. But everyone, Mama included, contrived ways of allowing them to conduct an almost private conversation.

She was tongue-tied and breathless with him, as she was not with everyone else, and unable to think of anything but the most banal things to say to him. She found herself simply agreeing with whatever he said. Was her problem that he was blind? Or that she did not want to encourage his addresses? Or that she would surely have liked him if she did not also have to marry him? But the great discomfort she felt in his presence eventually gave her an idea. A rather dishonorable idea that nevertheless developed into a definite plan.

Of course, she
could
have dispensed with a plan altogether and simply told him the truth. She was almost sure he would be relieved, that he did not wish to marry her any more than she wanted to marry him. But was being
almost
sure enough?

What if she was wrong?

And so she made her plan.

She started to agree with him on purpose and upon everything. She began to speak breathlessly and to use a tone of quiet attentiveness, as his mother and sisters did. Whenever possible, she lent him a helping hand when she knew he did not need one.

She felt dreadful.

But she had not been wrong in her understanding of him, she soon realized. His gentle, smiling courtesy was largely a shield behind which he hid the frustrations, even perhaps the anger, of a man who could not meet his world quite on a par with other men. She wondered that everyone else had not noticed.

She could have tried to be his friend. A friend was what he needed in this house. But she dared not. She dared not risk being misunderstood and forced into marriage with him. Not that she was sure she would not be anyway.

Oh, if it came to the point, she would
have
to tell him. He needed more than a friend in a wife, and how could she be even that when her heart belonged to another man?

Matters came to a head on the afternoon of the third day, when they were sent out to the parterre gardens, the two of them, while Philippa’s maid stood unobtrusively on the terrace beyond for appearance’s sake. She would be willing to bet that there was more than one pair of eyes surreptitiously watching them from the drawing room above. She did not look up to see.

They were seated, though there was a crisp breeze blowing. They were surrounded by tulips and irises in freshly turned soil. It was tragic that he could not see such beauty. They had conversed politely on a number of topics, or at least he had said a few things and she had agreed with him. She was feeling mortally depressed, for his family had been exceedingly kind to her and her parents, and even to her sisters, who had been invited to tea in the drawing room yesterday. Her mother was over the moon with happiness for her, as she had told her last night when she came to her bedchamber. She was delighted with Viscount Darleigh’s appearance and manners and address, as she had every reason to be. And she spoke of her daughter’s betrothal to him as a foregone conclusion. All she wondered was how many days would pass before he
declared himself. Surely no more than two or three.

There had been a brief lull in the conversation.

Philippa clasped her hands very tightly in her lap. She could feel her heart thumping in her bosom. Should she simply
do
it? Tell him the truth, that was? Tell him that she liked him but could never marry him? But how could she? He had not even asked her yet. What if he had no intention of doing so? She would want a hole to open up in the garden and plummet her down to China.

“I am firmly of the opinion,” Lord Darleigh said in his pleasant, courteous voice, “that the scientific world has been in a wicked conspiracy against the masses for the past number of centuries, Miss Dean, in order to convince us that the earth is round. It is, of course, quite undeniably flat. Even a fool could see that. If one were to walk to the edge of it, one would fall off and never be heard of again. What is
your
opinion?”

She turned her head sharply to gaze at his profile. Oh, he knew her game and he was trying to flush her out into the open. Surely. He could not
possibly
be serious. Surely she could relax now, laugh merrily, and ask him if he was as desperate to get out of this situation devised by their parents as she was.

But it was so much more difficult to be spontaneous with a stranger than it would seem. For there was the smallest possibility that he
was
serious. And if she laughed at him …

Well, she simply could not risk it.

“I am quite sure you have the right of it, my lord,” she said.

And she willed
him
to laugh and ask
her
if she was as desperate as he to be free of this farce.

Instead, he smiled politely and asked her if the wind was too chilly for her.

She was a bit angry, a bit bewildered. He was playing games as surely as she was. Did he expect
her
to speak the truth first? It was very unfair of him. It showed a lack of gallantry.

But perhaps he believed she really was a peagoose.

She set her fingertips on his sleeve and spoke in her sweetest, most breathless voice. She really was quite angry.

“I did not at all mind coming here, you know, Lord Darleigh,” she said. “Even though I have been looking forward forever to my first Season in London and do not remember ever being happier than I was on the night of my come-out ball. But I know enough about life to understand
that I was taken there not
just
for enjoyment. Mama and Papa have explained what a wonderful opportunity this invitation is for me, as well as for my sisters and brothers. I did not mind coming, truly. Indeed, I came willingly. I
understand
, you see, and I
will not mind
one little bit.”

And if
that
did not flush him out into the open, she did not know what would.

“You will think I am forward,” she added for good measure, “though I am not usually so outspoken. I just thought you needed to know that I do not mind. For perhaps you fear I do.”

Perhaps, she thought, she was merely digging a deeper and deeper hole for herself. For perhaps she had read all the signs wrong. And if so, then she had surely just committed herself to the very future she was most intent upon avoiding.

She willed him to turn his head and laugh at her. He could not possibly think she was serious. She was a walking, talking cliché.

He got to his feet, and she took his arm and deliberately steered him along the path toward the house, even though he had his cane and had used it without mishap to find his way out here earlier.

She really had sealed her own doom.

Oh, Julian!

She shivered in the chill of the wind.

Julian’s first sight of Middlebury Park was intimidating—first the ivy-clad outer wall stretching as far as the eye could see to either side of the gates, then the long, winding driveway through dense woodland, and then the sudden vista of the imposing mansion and the formal gardens before it with closely scythed lawns stretching away to either side.

It was late morning, and the early mist had burned off to be replaced by sunshine.

He still did not know quite what he hoped to accomplish by coming here. But he did at least have his story clear in his mind. He hoped it would not seem hopelessly thin.

The butler looked dubious when Julian presented his card and asked to see Viscount Darleigh. He would see if his lordship was at home, the man said, and away he went, leaving Julian standing in the tiled hallway with its high ceiling, marble fireplaces on either side, and marble statuary—and a silent footman.

It was a hall meant to reduce callers to size, he thought—and it succeeded admirably. Not that he would have been intimidated if, as was entirely possible, he really was passing by and had thought to call upon an acquaintance and friend of his uncle’s in order to pay his respects.

Julian could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, as though he were some sort of impostor. Philippa was staying here. Would he see her? But to what purpose? Was he already too late? But too late for
what
? He had come here without any clear plan.

Would Darleigh merely receive him in a private salon, shake his hand, offer him refreshments, make polite conversation for a while, then send him on his way?

Would Julian allow that to happen? But what could he do to stop it?

“If you will follow me, sir.” The butler had returned on silent feet.

Julian was led into the west wing of the house and along a wide corridor until they stopped outside high double doors, which the butler opened.

“The Honorable Mr. Julian Crabbe, ma’am,” he announced.

The room—a large, comfortable-looking apartment that Julian assumed was the morning room—was crowded with people. One of them, a lady of middle years, was on her feet and coming toward him, her right hand outstretched, a look of eager anxiety on her face.

“Mr. Crabbe,” she said, “how do you do? What can you tell me of Vincent?”

Vincent? He felt stupid for a moment as well as dazed. For two of the occupants of the room were Mr. and Mrs. Dean, who were seated opposite the doorway, close to the fireplace. And off to one side of the room, by the window, standing apart from everyone else, was Philippa, her startled face turned his way.

Good God. All else fled from his mind, though he dared not turn his head to look fully at her. And yet he knew that her face was parchment white, as pale as her muslin dress.

Vincent, he realized, his mind coming back to him with a jolt, was Viscount Darleigh. Vincent Hunt.

“How do you do, ma’am.” He took the lady’s hand and bowed over it. “Lord Darleigh is a friend of my uncle, the Duke of Stanbrook. I met him at Penderris Hall once when he was there recovering from his war wounds. I am on my way to visit friends in this part of the country and called to pay my respects. I hope this is not an inconvenient time?”