One Whisper Away (9 page)

“Lord Augustine
is
quite unusual.” She inclined her head. “I think he is used to a bit more freedom than London provides him.”

Her father’s gaze was steady and unrelenting. “Cecily, he has an illegitimate child he boldly brought into his household.”

So that was the issue. Or part of it anyway.

“Good for him,” she said recklessly. “At least he didn’t tuck her away in some remote part of the country and pretend she didn’t exist. I think it speaks well for his character rather than counting as a black mark against it. Shouldn’t a father love his daughter?”

“Touché.” Her own father had the grace to look faintly amused, but it faded almost at once. “That includes wanting what is best for her. Viscount Drury is a very well-placed young man. You have just acknowledged you find him pleasant.”

“Pleasant is hardly enough for a marriage.”

“It is a very good start, isn’t it?”

As it wasn’t a true question, she didn’t answer, just sat stiffly in her chair.

“I think,” her father said then with an exasperated sigh, his fingers skimming through his hair, “you and Eleanor are trying between you to test me beyond my capacity for tolerance. I am not interested in dissension. I want peace, and that includes having you both happy and settled. She refuses to be ‘married off,’ as she calls it, and as a result she is still waiting. You are apparently trying to follow in her footsteps, only you have somehow attracted the attention of all of the beau monde with your flirtation with Augustine.”

“There hasn’t been a flirtation.” At least she could say that with conviction.

“No?” Her father frowned.

“No.”

“Then Augustine isn’t a true suitor? Because if so, I want you to realize I would have some measure of reservation.”

She hesitated, but she couldn’t honestly claim he even had any interest at all, and certainly no interest in courting her. Two scandalous compliments were hardly indicative of anything significant. And none of the other men who had claimed dances and brought flowers and called in the afternoons held more appeal than Lord Drury—some quite a bit less, in fact. No, she couldn’t claim a sincere romance that would thwart a marriage to the viscount. “He hasn’t given any indication of it,” she admitted.

“Then why all the speculation about the two of you?”

“Without intending to be disrespectful, might I point out you already have claimed a greater knowledge of how society works than I have. It’s gossip.”

“Good, then.” Her father’s tone was lighter, but dismissive. “I want you to carefully consider Lord Drury’s proposal when he arrives to make it. I’ll give you three days and we will discuss this again. Keep in mind that this match would please me. The marriage contract is already with my solicitors.”

That certainly sounded official.

An edict from the duke. Cecily found her palms were suddenly damp, in contrast to her dry mouth. Had it not been for her sister, she wouldn’t have been so upset. She might even have agreed because it was expected of her, but she refused to go through the rest of her life awash in guilt for her sister’s broken heart, especially when she wasn’t enthusiastic about her potential bridegroom anyway.

Woodenly she rose, nodded, and left the room without even bidding her father a polite farewell. She thought maybe he said her name as she went through the door, but if so, she ignored it.

This
was a catastrophe.

What should she do? She’d appealed once to Roderick and that had proved to be a futile attempt. The viscount had come to her father anyway to gain his permission, so she had to assume a certain amount of determination on his part.

She was without recourse.

That was patently unfair, wasn’t it? Still, her brother should be able to relate to her what exactly Lord Drury had said to their father.

Roderick was in his rooms changing for dinner when she knocked on the door with not too gentle a fist. Her brother answered with his cravat still undone and an impatient look on his face that faded when he took in her expression. His voice was quiet. “I tried to tell you.”

Cecily walked past him and sank into a chair, her legs a bit weak. “Did you not talk to Lord Drury?”

“Of course I did.” Her brother sounded defensive, but then he sighed. “He was more than willing to talk to me eagerly about you, but when I mentioned Eleanor, he changed the subject and brushed it off. It’s fairly clear he’s not just offering because of your suitability, but is truly infatuated.”

Not precisely what she wanted to hear. And she disagreed. “We haven’t known each other long enough for him to be infatuated,” Cecily protested. “He knows Elle far better.”

“Is there some time limit I don’t know of for a man to be attracted to a woman?” Roderick narrowed his gaze. “Speaking of which, there’s more talk about you and Augustine. Care to explain to me why?”

The earl again. Now
there
was a good argument for swift infatuation . . .

“Care to explain to me why you think I answer to you?” She and her brother were only six years apart in age and they rarely quarreled, but his presumption was irritating and in this case especially, the situation wasn’t her fault.

Her brother rubbed his jaw, his mouth set. “It is if I am called upon to defend your honor. Is there some reason for me to speak to Augustine? Because I—”

“Don’t be daft, Roddy. Have you seen the man? He is both older than you, and no doubt leagues more experienced. I understand he was in the war . . . so don’t be a fool. He even
looks
dangerous and if only half of what they say about him is true, he is. I feel confident he is fully capable of defending himself.”

“I’m a good shot.” Roderick’s face had reddened slightly.

Cecily probably should have known better than to prick his male pride, so she sighed inwardly and explained, “The earl approached me last night to apologize”—she left out the part where the man in question insulted the entire English aristocracy—“for what happened at the ball and the resulting gossip. Eleanor heard him. If there is more gossip, it isn’t because of anything more than we briefly spoke for that purpose.”

“I heard a slightly different version. I doubt our sister caught what he leaned in and whispered in your ear before he got up and rejoined his family,” her brother said with sardonic inflection. “I hope you realize that if Father hears of all this, avoiding a possible scandal will make an engagement to Drury all the more appealing.”

“He already has heard and there will be
no
scandal,” Cecily said, exasperation with the entire situation—with men in general, including her father and brother—making her tone sharp. “I’ve had even less contact with Lord Augustine than Lord Drury. I would prefer if they would both leave me alone, to be frank.”

 

“May I sit in?”

Jonathan glanced up, didn’t recognize the individual addressing him, but was astute enough to know antagonism when he heard it. Tall and fair, the man was elegant and every inch the cool aristocrat, a very proper neck cloth at his throat, his face creased into an expression of overt disdain.

Still, no recognition, but Jonathan was no stranger to incipient dislike based on nothing but narrow-mindedness. He shrugged.

“Certainly,” he said, indicating the empty chair next to him. “We’ve a spot.”

Intuition had kept him alive more than once. Why had the table gone suddenly quiet? As a matter of fact, the room itself had quieted. Jonathan glanced at James, but his cousin’s face didn’t reveal much. Jonathan waited while Sir Wilfred, a portly man in his middle age with a ruddy face and usually gregarious manner dealt the cards without saying a word.

“You must be Augustine,” the new arrival murmured, picking up his hand in a deceptively languid movement. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Viscount Drury, at your service.”

English protocol was a waste of time as far as he was concerned, so Jonathan just inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment of the introduction. “Yes, I’m Augustine. A pleasure.” It still felt awkward using his title instead of his given name. In America, there were no titles, and just as well in his opinion. A man was what a man was, not a lord based on his lofty lineage.

. . .
I hate to state the obvious, but
you
are a member of the class you just disparaged
.

The beautiful Lady Cecily had a point, he decided wryly.

Drury was still an unfamiliar name and an unfamiliar face, so he wasn’t sure why everyone at the table was slightly tense, but it seemed to be the case. Jonathan watched the other man seemingly peruse his cards and decide on a wager, all the while puzzled by the general air of taut anticipation.

They played the next round in near silence.

James laid down his hand on the baize covering the table. “My cards aren’t good enough to toss my money away. I’m out.”

Sir Wilfred similarly declined to bet, though the other two men in the game raised in cautious amounts. Jonathan had a good hand and he was bolder. Lord Drury, it seemed, also believed he could win, for he wagered aggressively and it took only a few more rounds—Jonathan taking four out of five hands but the other man never backing down—before Jonathan understood fully there was some sort of personal competition going on between them that had nothing to do with a simple game of cards.

It was uncomfortable enough that Jonathan finally rose, pocketed his winnings, and excused himself. As he turned to leave the table, Drury drawled with cool inflection, “Lady Cecily is going to be my fiancée.”

That spun Jonathan around on his heel, the news not welcome on a level that had him confounded. He didn’t want a wife—not yet anyway—and he certainly would not choose an English bride, but that was neither here nor there. At the moment, the trouble seemed to be an irate viscount and the interested audience of the entire gaming room. Aside from James, he didn’t sense much support, so perhaps a confrontation was not in order.

This was exactly what his sisters did
not
need.

“Congratulations.” Jonathan tried to sound bland. “She’s undeniably lovely.”

“I thought perhaps the information would be of interest to you.”

Had it not been such a public forum and if Lily hadn’t pointed out to him that a scandal would not help Carole and Betsy, who knows what he might have said. As it was, he kept his voice soft, but the lethal tone was still there. “I can’t see why.”

“Can’t you?” Drury regarded him now with open, glittering enmity. “Considering your recent actions, I somehow doubt that. I’ve heard you are not all that well versed in our customs, and perhaps that is the excuse.”

“
Your
customs?” A muscle tightened in Jonathan’s cheek. “The implication being, of course, that I do not understand the protocol of polite society?”

“Or maybe you just deliberately disregard it.”

That tone of insolence grated particularly. Jonathan tried to decide if the viscount merely had an impaired sense of self-preservation or if this was a way to make Earl Savage live up to his nickname and instigate a public brawl.

Sir Wilfred jumped up and moved to another table with a mumbled apology. Drury still sat, his gaze unflinching, his pose seemingly relaxed.

Had it not been for James, perhaps the discussion would have escalated, for certainly the pale Englishman didn’t seem to have much regard for his personal safety, but Jonathan heard the scrape of a chair and a second later his cousin had clamped a hand around his forearm and was urging him out of the room. Once they were outside, Jonathan said in clipped tones, “If it were anyone else but you holding on to me, I might rip their hand off. There’s no need for the not-so-subtle coercion. Feel free to let me go before I toss you halfway across the room.”

James blew out a low humorless laugh and complied. “Just trying to keep it all civilized. Bloodshed in the card room always titillates the ladies but it disrupts the evening.”

“I didn’t start it.”

“No,” James agreed, edging past a group of matrons.

“
Was
there going to be bloodshed?” Jonathan adjusted his sleeve and surveyed the crowded ballroom with seeming detachment. “How serious was he? I know nothing about him.”

“Let’s just say the combination of your impatience with threats, a certain duke’s daughter, and the viscount’s misplaced sense of honor gave me twinges of alarm. You heard him—he has offered for the delectable Lady Cecily. Shall I find us some brandy?”

Jonathan wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be offended at his cousin’s pragmatic approach to the near confrontation. “I take it I am expected not to take offense at Drury’s obvious—and public—warning off? You have more faith than I do in my powers of forgiveness.”

The ballroom was busy, the crowd milling, the dance floor full of swirling couples, the ladies in their brilliant gowns, the men in dark evening wear. Undoubtedly both Carole and Betsy were out there amid the bowing and bobbing partners. They’d both looked forward to this event, and Jonathan wanted them to enjoy themselves. James stopped for a moment and then he said quietly, “Yes. For the sake of your sisters you need to ignore his lordship’s overbearing tactics, especially since you aren’t serious about the young lady. Look, Jon, he’s a favorite of the duke and word has it the marriage is a fait accompli. An altercation now would serve no purpose.”

“I’m the one called a savage? He could use a lesson in manners.”

“You have made his fiancée a subject of gossip. Do you blame him?”

Were he totally innocent, Jonathan could have protested with more vigor, but he wasn’t—innocence was long past lost—and besides, he was a practical man at heart and wondered how much of his affront was the declaration that the lovely Cecily was apparently taken.

Not that he wanted her.

Well, he
wanted
her, but not in at all a polite way.