The Incomparable Miss Compton (11 page)

Chapter Nine

As Malcolm stormed into Lady Prestwick’s sitting room that afternoon, she deigned to look up. She was her usual composed self, perched on her camel-backed sofa with a partially finished piece of embroidery in her lap, needle poised in mid-air. She didn’t even blink as he stalked up to her.

“She turned me down,” he declared without roundaboutation.

She simply eyed him. “Miss Compton? Why would she do that?”

“Why indeed?” Malcolm snarled. He wanted nothing so much as to rail at the injustice, but he spotted Rames, the Prestwick butler, hovering in the background, jowls quivering. Prestwick had mentioned the fellow was a gossip. Malcolm affixed him with a black glare. “I won’t eat your mistress, man. Give us a moment in private.”

The butler swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing visibly, and turned his gaze to his mistress. “My lady?”

“It’s quite all right, Rames,” Anne told him. “If Lord Prestwick gets home while Lord Breckonridge is here, please show him in. Otherwise, you may leave me with his lordship safely.”

It was a statement of the irregularities the fellow had no doubt seen when he had worked for the bachelor Prestwick that Rames did not so much as blink as he bowed and exited, shutting the double doors behind him.

Anne neatly took a stitch in her fabric. “So, Miss Compton did not wish to be your wife. That seems a bit odd.”

“It’s ridiculous,” he spat, still too angry to sit. He paced the room instead, although even the long strides the green-hung room allowed did not diminish the emotions surging through him. “I obviously chose the wrong woman.”

She raised an eyebrow and took another stitch. “Do you truly think so? She seemed perfect for you.”

“Obviously, we were both duped,” he told her firmly.

“I see,” she replied. “A shame. Let me see, didn’t you say you needed someone who is a good household manager? Is her townhouse ill-run then?”

“It is spotless,” he admitted. “The servants are efficient, and the decorations are tasteful.”

“Then I take it she overspends her budget.”

“Not that I can tell,” Malcolm replied, slowing his steps in thought. “Her wardrobe is behind the times; she does not appear to put a great deal of blunt into her looks.”

“Is that not good? I believe you told Chas you didn’t want someone who was fussy in fashion.”

He thought of the way her simple gowns flowed down her well curved frame. “She is not the least bit fussy, I assure you.”

“Then she is not intelligent. She would not be able to find flaws in your logic.”

Prestwick had obviously shared their entire conversation with his wife. Malcolm paused to regard her bowed head, looking for some sign of superiority, but she continued to stitch as if it were the most important thing she could do.

“I cannot say she is not intelligent,” he replied. “In fact, she thinks she found a decided flaw in my logic.”

“Oh?” The question was bland as if she were doing no more than asking his opinion on the weather. Malcolm shook his head.

“Do you want the whole of it then?”

She raised her head and smiled at him. “You did seem intent on telling me when you blustered in. Sit down, Breckonridge. Perhaps we can discover what you have done to make the sensible Miss Compton take you in dislike.”

“I did nothing,” he protested, although he slumped into a chair across from her. The hard wood sides were not conducive to self-pity, however, and he was forced to straighten immediately.

“If you did nothing wrong, and she refused you, she is not the woman I thought she was,” Anne said quietly. “Perhaps if you told me what transpired.”

“The conversation is of little import,” he replied with a wave of his hand. “I presented my case logically. She refused to deal in logic.”

Now she frowned. “That seems most unlike Miss Compton. I would have said she was a very logical woman.”

“If any woman can be so described,” he muttered.

Anne flashed him a look that reminded him somehow of a master he had had once at Eton. “Most women can be so described, my lord. It is not
our
perceptions that cause most problems.”

Malcolm sat a little straighter. “I beg your pardon, Lady Prestwick.”

“You are forgiven,” she replied, for all the world like the Prince Regent granting him a favor. “Now, please continue.”

He shook his head. “Single-minded as well as determined. Very well, my dear, if you want the whole dreary story. I presented my case, and Miss Compton told me she would not have me unless she loved me.”

Anne took another stitch. “Very sensible, as I said.”

“Sensible?” he sputtered. “You find that sensible? To appeal to as fickle an organ as the heart for something so important?”

She affixed him with that look again. “Quite sensible. If you expected otherwise, my lord, it is you who are the illogical one. Marriage is just as much about the heart as it is about the head. Perhaps more so.”

“I’m getting quite tired of hearing this refrain,” he informed her. “I have observed many excellent marriages in which neither party’s heart was involved.”

“And I’ve seen any number of wretched marriages in which neither party’s heart was involved,” Anne countered.

“You make my point for me. The heart is not a determinant in the success of a marriage.”

“I disagree with you,” she replied calmly, taking another stitch. He couldn’t help noticing, however, that the fabric was nearly ripped by the force of her needle. “If you considered the logic of
my
marriage, my lord, Lord Prestwick would never have asked me.”

Malcolm purposely did not look her direction. Gossip abounded as to why Chas Prestwick had married the quiet Anne Reynolds. Most of the stories pointedly guessed that the gentleman had been caught being less than a gentleman, and Anne’s widowed aunts would not let him escape. Still, even if that were the case, he could not imagine a more besotted or adoring husband than Prestwick. Nor a more devoted wife than the lady before him. “I would not dare compare my attempts at marriage to yours, Lady Prestwick,” he said.

“That at least is sensible of you,” she quipped. “We must all of us stand on our own in that field, my lord. So, Miss Compton could not give you her heart. Did you expect her to do otherwise when you had only just met?”

“I didn’t expect her to do so even if we’d been friends for generations,” he informed her. “As I said, her heart’s feelings were immaterial to me. Logically, this is an excellent match. I expected her to see that, particularly as I took some pains to point out the benefits.”

“Yes, somehow I would think you’d be good at that,” she replied, taking another stitch. “I think perhaps I can see where you went wrong, my lord. However, before I offer any advice, I must know. How do you feel about Miss Compton?”

“I find her intelligent, trustworthy, and competent.”

“Such high praise,” Anne murmured. He frowned, feeling as if she were criticizing him, for all the sentiment was uttered with her usual quiet.

“I rather thought so,” he replied, although the words sounded too much like an excuse to his ears.

“Then it is safe to say that your heart is not involved.”

“No more so than in any other venture.”

“I see.” She set her needlework aside and patted down the skirts of her blue poplin gown. “That, of course, is the root of the problem, my lord. Marriage is not like any other venture. I daresay you would have put more thought and effort into campaigning for one of your laws than what you did to encourage Miss Compton to see your suit favorably.”

He started to protest, but she met his gaze full on and the protest died in his throat.

“Consider my words before reacting, if you please,” she told him. “That act last year, the one that so upset Lady Margaret DeGuis -- how much effort did you put into seeing it go down in defeat?”

“Considerable,” he admitted grudgingly.

“Define considerable,” she insisted.

He sighed. “We both know it consumed most of my waking moments for several months. Very well, you’ve made your point. But surely a woman cannot expect me to devote my life to convincing her that marriage is a sensible course of action.”

“There are some women who would expect as much. Somehow, I don’t think Miss Compton is among their number. But if you are determined to have her as your wife, my lord, I am very much afraid you will have to court her.”

He stared at her. “Court her?”

She quirked a smile. “You make it sound like torture. It is far less onerous, I assure you.”

“Not from what I’ve observed,” he replied, rising to pace once more. “Courting involves an extensive amount of time and effort. I must take her driving, I must meet her at the theater and the opera, I must languish in her sitting room on a daily basis.” He stopped in shock. “Good God, I’ll have to attend one of those ghastly subscription balls at Almack’s.”

“I doubt you will have to compromise your sensibilities to that extent,” Anne told him, and he could hear the chuckle in her voice. The chit was enjoying this. He rounded on her.

“Easy for you to say, my dear. I have the Widows and Orphans Act I’m trying to convince Liverpool to father through the system, and another three due to hit the floor before recess. There’s talk of developing even stiffer gagging acts to stop the people from reforming Parliament. The stiffer the acts, the more likely we are to have a fight on our hands. England cannot stand a revolution of the magnitude we saw in the American Colonies and France. I appear to be the only voice of reason. To top it all off, His Royal Highness is demanding that we raise his allowance again, so that he can buy more fripperies for his blasted pavilion in Brighton, and I will not watch him buy Chinese lanterns while the troops who returned from Waterloo starve. I have no time for romance, madam. I have work to do.”

She shook her head. “If you have no time to look for a lady, you have no time to be married to that lady, my lord. Do you expect your wife to sit quietly home while you slave away in running the country? I think not. Have you not said she is to work beside her as a helpmate? If you were training a man to help you, would you not spend time teaching him what you expected?”

“That is an entirely different matter,” he pointed out heatedly. “He would already have made the commitment. If I was married to the woman, I would certainly spend time with her.”

“A woman expects commitment sooner than a man, I fear,” Anne replied. “She wants to see that you are sufficiently committed to her before agreeing to spend the rest of her life with you. I’m afraid there is no getting around it, my lord. Any woman who would be good enough to be the partner you seek will want you to court her before marrying her.”

He let out a deep sigh. “I am well and truly trapped then.”

“If that’s how you see it, I’m afraid you are. I must admit, however, that there are women who would jump at an offer of marriage from you, with no more effort than you gave Miss Compton. I’d pity you for marrying them, but they would be less effort, in the beginning.”

“No,” he agreed with reluctant admiration. “You are right. I have not found anyone to rival Miss Compton in meeting my requirements. Very well, I must court her. Surely you can suggest some appropriate way to do that that will not jeopardize the career I’m trying to support.”

Anne nodded. “I could make a number of suggestions, if you’d like. Sit here beside me, and let’s see what we can contrive.”

Malcolm moved to do as she requested. He had a deep feeling that he was giving away something very important and was about to give up even more. But he was determined to marry. If courtship was what it took, he might as well get it over with.

Chapter Ten

Sarah wanted nothing more than to retire to her room and cry. She had never been so hurt in her life. Oh, it had been awful when her parents had been killed and Aunt Belle and Uncle Harold had preferred to shuttle her off to strangers rather than see to her needs themselves. And Persephone’s gibes the last few months had cut her to the quick. But even those things had not been as cruel as her interview with Malcolm. To think she had felt the least attraction to the man! He was an unfeeling beast, a monster. She was heartily glad that she had warned him off Persephone before her cousin had had to see him for what he was.

Unfortunately, she could not indulge in tears. She had been away from the girl quite long enough. She forced herself to return to the sitting room, only to find with surprise that the room was empty of everyone but Persephone. Her cousin was standing by the window, staring resolutely out onto the street.

“Is something wrong?” Sarah couldn’t help asking.

Persephone turned to her, mouth tight. “Lord Breckonridge stormed down to his carriage. What did you say to him?”

Sarah stiffened. “It is of no import. Suffice it to say that Lord Breckonridge will not be calling again.”

“Why?” Persephone demanded, stalking away from the window like a lioness who had sighted her prey. Her violet eyes narrowed dangerously, and she put her hands on her slender hips. Normally, Sarah would have tried to talk her out of the tantrum she could see coming, but at the moment, she longed for a good fight.

“None of your business,” she spat. “I have to share enough of my life, thank you very much. This portion is private.”

“
Your
life?” Persephone frowned. “What has this to do with
your
life? I demand to know why you are chasing Lord Breckonridge away from me.”

“Away from you?” Sarah stared at her. “Persy, he came looking for me.”

Persy waved a hand. “Don’t be ridiculous. No one comes looking for you.
I’m
the Incomparable Miss Compton.”

“You’re the incoherent Miss Compton at the moment,” Sarah informed her icily. “Lord Breckonridge no doubt thought he would try a more desperate woman with his unwelcome advances. I assure you, he came to see me.”

“Desperate?” Persephone swallowed. “Did you offer you a carte blanche?”

Much as she would have liked to blacken his eyes, she could not blacken his name. “Nothing dishonorable, merely distasteful. I would rather not discuss it, Persy. Let it be.”