Page 49

“Quite,” St. Ryne agreed shortly, bowing his head in her direction. He turned toward Lord Monweithe. “But come, sir, let us retire to your library, if we may, and leave these two to have a nice stroll through the park. I have a request to make which we should discuss.”

“Not without a chaperone!”

“Naturally, sir,” St. Ryne returned, feigning surprise.

“I’m sure Freddy expects Lady Wisgart’s company as well.”

Freddy threw a surprised look at St. Ryne but recovered quickly.

He discerned what St. Ryne desired was his cooperation in removing Lady Helene and Lady Wisgart.

So much for spiriting his beauty away! “Uh-h, quite so!” he said, darting sideways glances at the Viscount.

He bore a lively curiosity as to his friend’s sudden interest in Old Monweithe, and determined to have it out with him before long for dealing him such a backhanded turn.

“Lady Wisgart,” he said, rising elegantly and making a leg, “may we have the pleasure of your company? It is such a clear crisp day, not in the least bit damp,” he said engagingly.

“A short one, mayhap,” she said in a condescending tone. “I have heard mild exercise in such weather is invigorating for the constitution. Still, we must dress warmly. Come, Helene.”

St. Ryne bowed as they left, before turning again to the Earl. “Your library, sir,” he reminded, gesturing before him.

Lord Monweithe frowned a moment; he did not like the idea of Helene going out with Shiperton.

No sense building any expectations among the young bucks who squired his youngest daughter.

St. Ryne put him in an awkward position.

He was curious to know his request and to deny the outing now would be boorish.

He saw St. Ryne regarding him with that lazy, sleepy- eyed smile of his.

Damn, if he didn’t think St. Ryne had arranged the entire situation, but now he couldn’t say no.

“Certainly, this way,” he said, leading him toward the door. There he paused for a moment to turn back to Freddy Shiperton. “Don’t be gone too long,” he admonished.

“Just a little jaunt, sir, and thank you, sir!” Freddy managed to stumble out.

The Earl of Rasthough only frowned again, and followed his distinguished guest out of the room.

“You don’t approve of our Freddy,” St. Ryne observed as they crossed the hall to the library.

“Don’t approve or disapprove. No sense filling their heads with fancies. I’ve said it before and I say it now, my eldest daughter is to be married first.”

“Precisely.”

Monweithe looked at St. Ryne sideways, not understanding what he meant, then continued, “Daresay people think I’m crazy, but my mind’s made up. Love that little gal, but I guess I say I got my duty.”

St. Ryne nodded as the Earl ushered him into his library.

“You are to be commended, sir.”

“I am? Well, I only do as I feel right,” Lord Monweithe said gruffly, lowering his bulk into the leather chair behind his desk. “But sit down, sit down and tell me what’s on your mind.”

“It’s quite simple,” St. Ryne remarked, crossing his legs and leaning back into the green plush chair before the desk. “I want to marry your daughter,” he explained, watching his host closely.

“What?!?” that gentleman exclaimed, rising from his chair and leaning across the cluttered desk, his face turning dangerously red.

“I just told you Elizabeth is to be married first. Don’t think just because you stand to become an Earl that you’re going to be any different from any other gentleman who’s courting Helene, because I tell you now, it ain’t going to be so!

Asides which, you’ve never called or spoken to her before today. ”

St. Ryne’s face froze and he regarded the Earl of Rasthough coldly.

“Have you so little love or respect for your eldest daughter that you must needs assume any gentleman soliciting your daughter’s hand in marriage means Helene?”

“But, but—what are you saying, man?”

“Frankly I find Helene no different from a dozen other insipid debutantes of the season, such as my mother has tried to put in my way. I have heretofore ignored them all,” he stated, nearly gritting his teeth, his face white under his tan.

Lord Monweithe blinked uncertainly and slowly resumed his seat, while staring bemusedly at St. Ryne.

The Viscount went on: “The only woman I could possibly consider marrying is your daughter Elizabeth. Do not cast aspersions on her character to me!” The strange rage consuming him burned out suddenly, and once again he relaxed in his chair.

“She’s had enough,” he muttered to himself.

The strength of his own emotions stunned him.

Lord Monweithe caught the last of what he said very faintly, and wondered if he had heard right. He was amazed and knew he must recover himself.

“Now, now, easy lad. No harm meant.” He laughed with false joviality as he warily studied St. Ryne’s shuttered expression.

‘Now, would I say my Elizabeth must marry first if I didn’t care for her?

Well now? Sorry I misunderstood you, but you know we were discussing my daughter Helene as we came in the room, and then you took me by surprise, that’s all, my boy. ”

St. Ryne neither smiled nor responded, and the broad smile on the Earl’s face faded slightly.

“So you want to marry my Elizabeth, do you? Well, well, I’d be proud to welcome you to the family.”

The twisted smile reappeared on St. Ryne’s face. “Thank you, sir,” he said wryly.

Monweithe leaned back in his chair. “Ha, ha. I saw you dancing with my gal at Lady Amblethorp’s. Love at first sight, was it? Fine gal, fine gal. And handsome, too.” He looked keenly at St. Ryne. “Daresay you’re just the man to handle her, too, from the tales I’ve heard.”

St. Ryne stiffened slightly, but the Earl, reaching out for the bell pull, did not notice.

Almost immediately his summons was answered by the appearance of his butler at the door.

So prompt was that worthy’s appearance, St. Ryne wondered sardonically if Elizabeth’s reputation was not perhaps due in large measure to servants listening at keyholes.

“Jovis, ask Lady Elizabeth to join me in the library.”

“Very good, my lord.”

“Let us have a toast,” Lord Monweithe suggested to St. Ryne, rising from his desk and going to the sideboard, where stood a decanter and several glasses. “Always like to have a little to hand,” he explained, pouring two glasses of a deep tawny port. “Here, lad—a toast to Elizabeth.”

St. Ryne raised his glass in silent salute.

Jovis returned a moment later, coughing softly to gain the Earl's attention.

“Well, where is she?” Lord Monweithe asked, irritated, but nevertheless keeping a wary eye on his prospective son-in-law.

“Beg pardon, my lord, but the Lady Elizabeth says as how she is doing some mending, she cannot come.”

“What! You tell that—” Monweithe started to exclaim but stopped in confusion seeing the shuttered look come over St. Ryne’s face. He looked at St. Ryne helplessly.

St. Ryne put his glass down and rose from his chair. Bowing to the Earl, a slow trace of a smile began to cross his face. “It is always best to get over heavy ground as lightly as possible. May I have your trust, sir?”

“Ah, of course lad. No need to ask.”

“Good. Then I shall start as I mean to go on,” St. Ryne stated. He turned to Jovis. “Please conduct me to the Lady Elizabeth.”

Lord Monweithe looked carefully at St. Ryne, then nodded his consent.

St. Ryne followed the butler upstairs to a small parlor at the back of the house, forestalled his announcing him, and signaled the man’s dismissal with a jerk of his head. Smiling to himself in anticipation of the encounter, he opened the door.

The room was shabbier than the rest of the house, but its tall windows let in the streaming sunlight.

Seated with her feet tucked up under her on a small, faded gold sofa by the windows, a stack of mending by her side, was the Lady Elizabeth Monweithe.

She was wearing a much worn, faded blue gown that was tight across the bodice.

Her long dark hair was pulled back and held by a silk ribbon.

The sunlight shining on her hair showed glowing red and gold highlights.

When she looked up as the door opened, her expression was one of exasperation at being disturbed yet again, but when she saw who stood there in the doorway, her color rose.

“You!”

Justin’s smile broadened. Closing the door, he leaned against it.

“What, my Elizabeth speechless again? For shame. Well, I’ll promise not to tell—we can’t spoil your reputation now.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked coldly, while her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. He came!

“What? Here? Standing—you haven’t asked me to sit yet,” he said easily, as he avidly drank in her appearance. She was more beautiful than he remembered.

“Don’t play games,” she ground out. “Why did you come to see me?”

“Now we are getting conceited, aren’t we? And just after one dance.” He watched her bite her lip in exasperation and laughed. “Actually, I came to visit your father.”

“My father?” Her voice shook.

“Certainly. It still is considered necessary for a suitor to ask the parents of a young lady if he may solicit her hand in marriage, isn’t it?

At least, it was when I left for Jamaica.

Personally,” he went on reflectively, “I’ve always thought the principals should decide such things among themselves first; however, I am in the minority, so I bow to convention. ”

She sneered at him. “So, another of little Helene’s conquests.” A steel band tightened around her heart.

He cocked his head to one side as he regarded her. “That is exactly what your father thought. Perhaps I overreacted. No, you silly widgeon, it is your hand I asked for.”