Page 93 of The Viscount Who Vexed Me

Lila laughed, mostly with surprise that she’d hit a nerve. “Not that I’m aware. But it makes sense.”

“Not to me.”

“Wonderful!” She helped herself to another gingersnap. “Then shall I presume Miss Raney is first on your list?”

His jaw clenched. He kept his gaze on the dough he was rolling. Lila was fascinated by the scene. This man, this virile, handsome man, wearing an apron and rolling dough. “Of the ladies you have presented to me, I suppose she is. In theory.”

“Intheory? What does that mean?” Lila asked.

“It means, madam, that I don’t know her well enough. It’s impossible to assess our compatibility in the midst of a crowd.”

She wanted to suggest he bring Miss Raney on as his scribe, and then he’d be able to assess her compatibility. But he was not the only one who needed time. Lila needed it, too. She needed to learn even more about Hattie Woodchurch, because she had a feeling the viscount’s internal dilemma was not going to work itself out.

She took another gingersnap. “It is my experience that ‘in theory’ works as well as anything in these cases,” she said brightly. “I think the only thing left—before a declaration of feelings and a proposal—is to meet Miss Raney’s family.”

The viscount said nothing.

“That can all be arranged.”

He still said nothing.

“I’ve an idea for an outing that might provide opportunities to speak with less of a crowd gathered, if you like.”

He glanced up. “Whatever you need, Lady Aleksander.”

She figured that was as good as she would get from the man and stood up from her stool. “Wonderful! I’ll send details around.” She picked up another gingersnap. “You said Miss Woodchurch is not expected today? I wanted to ask what she thought of the ball.”

“She is not,” he said tightly.

Lila smiled. “Good day, my lord.” She headed out of the kitchen, but just before she stepped through the door, she happened to glance back. The viscount had stopped rolling his dough. His hands were braced against the table and he was staring into space, his jaw as tight as a drum.

Lila needed to learn exactly where Hattie Woodchurch stood. And she needed to do it posthaste.

CHAPTER THIRTY

LILAWASFORTUNATEenough to catch Beck at home with only Donovan in attendance. His wife and daughters were out.

“Shopping,” Beck said with a groan. “We’ll be home to Devonshire soon, and apparently one cannot buy gowns or gloves or hats there. We were just about to have some port, Lila. Would you like some?”

“Please!” She took a seat on the settee.

Donovan poured the ports and handed them around. Beck sat in a chair, one leg crossed over the other. “Now then. What can I do for you?”

Lila sipped her port. “I have a problem.”

“Another one? Darling, have you noticed you seem to have a lot of problems here of late?”

“I certainly have. But this time, my problem is that I think Lord Abbott is in love with Miss Woodchurch.”

Beck waited a moment or two for a jest, and when it didn’t come, he laughed. Donovan didn’t. Beck looked at Donovan, then at Lila. “What?”

“I’m serious, Beck.”

He uncrossed his legs and sat up. “Lila. I told you before that it’s impossible. Impossible!”

“I know,” she said. “But he loves her and I can’t in good conscience ignore that and arrange a marriage with Flora Raney.”

“You’re too tenderhearted, and if I may say, you seem to get more tender the older you get. I’ve always supported you, but in this, I can’t. There is no way we can overcome Miss Woodchurch’s family. Can you imagine the Santiavan Parliament? They’d be apoplectic the first time they made the acquaintance of Mr. Hugh Woodchurch.” He shuddered and set aside his port.