“Dreck!” he yelled out.
Frustrated, he rose from his desk and took his leave of the study. He nearly upended his butler on the way out, his strides so large he could have parted the Red Sea as he made his way to his bedchamber.
There was a bottle of scotch in there. One he intended to finish off before the night was over.
Tomorrow was another day. Tomorrow he would have to try again to win the heart of Elise Burroughs Batey.
Chapter 11
Shopping with a Bounder
Meanwhile, back at Floris in Jermyn Street
Diana managed a strained smile as she took the viscount’s proffered arm and allowed him to lead her to the glossy black town coach parked in front of the shop. The store’s crest was painted on the door. “Am I going to regret this?” she asked as they approached the equipage.
Adam took a deep breath, his first without having to inhale the scents of every fragrance featured in Floris. “Most certainly not,” he answered firmly. “I’m rather hoping you’ll thank me, in fact. We are going to Gunter’s, after all.”
Considering his words as he helped her into the elegant town coach—the interior was even scented with lavender—Diana wondered how the man could be truly serious about his intention to marry her. “And how do you expect me to thank you?” she asked after he gave the driver their destination.
Adam frowned at her implication. A few years ago—probably even a few days ago—he might have been tempted to answer with a risqué comment, but not today. “A simple ‘thank you’ will suffice, of course, my lady,” he replied as he took the seat across from her and settled into the plush squabs. Although he had been tempted to join her on the side in which she sat, he knew he would be pressing his luck if he did so.
“And after Gunter’s? Where to then?” she asked, suspicion evident in her voice. The man had both her box of shoes as well as the bag containing their order from Floris on the seat next to him. His own boxes merely added to the ruse that they had gone shopping together.
She couldn’t believe what she was doing. If someone should see her in the company of the viscount—with no chaperone in sight—and report it to Mrs. Streater, why, she would lose her position!
Wondering if he had somehow offended the young woman, Adam gave a shrug and replied, “I’ll escort you to Gunter’s, and then to your home, of course. Safely,” he added sotto voce.
“You don’t even know where I live,” she countered, her breaths coming a bit faster as panic suddenly set in. She was in a town coach with a handsome viscount and no chaperone in sight! Her mother, God rest her soul, would probably find humor in the situation, but as an instructor at a finishing school, seeing to the education of young ladies of the ton, she most certainly did not.
“At Warwick’s, of course. In Glasshouse Street, with the other teachers,” he stated in no uncertain terms.
Diana blinked. How on earth does he know such a thing? she wondered, rather stunned at the curse she had imagined. But it was appropriate.
How did the man know—?
Unless... Her eyes suddenly widened with suspicion. Before she could chide him or accuse him of having accosted other teachers from the finishing school, he held up a staying hand.
“I know this only because my mother was once a pupil there,” he stated. “For at least a year. As was my sister, Emelia, although a family friend wanted her companionship, so she ended up at a finishing school in Switzerland. Remember, my brother’s wife attended Warwick’s as well,” he added when he remembered Julia Harrington’s comment about the hags who taught French, elocution, needlework, painting, and drawing. Julia had never mentioned arithmetic or dancing in her complaints, though, and now he knew why. This woman definitely wasn’t a hag. Why, this woman would never be a hag. Even when she was eighty years old, gray and wrinkled, those blue-gray eyes would be beautiful. “Why arithmetic?” he asked suddenly.
Diana angled her head to one side, rather surprised by the query. Thoughts of impropriety flew from her head. “A lady of the ton is frequently expected to keep the household ledgers. Especially if the housekeeper lacks an adequate education,” she replied simply. “Most do, you see. And coming up with the menus for dinners sometimes requires that she make up a shopping list of all the ingredients necessary for her cook, especially when she’s to host a dinner party. Simple arithmetic and a bit of multiplication makes the task much easier and less prone to disaster when the dinner is about to be served.”
Adam considered the answer, not bothering to hide his surprise at hearing it. His mother did the menus, of course, and she kept a ledger. In the escritoire in her private salon. He never knew why or what it was for. “Will you do that for our household?” he asked, suddenly realizing he didn’t really have a household suitable for the two of them. His bachelor quarters in Green Street were probably large enough for two, but hardly appropriate given his other neighbors. He would have to see to hiring an agent that might help him secure a townhouse, or a terrace, perhaps. Near Grosvenor Square, he thought, hoping his allowance would cover such an extravagant address. Or perhaps something on the south side of the park.
Diana blinked. “I suppose so,” she hedged. Goodness, but the man seemed ever so serious about the idea of marrying her. “Do you keep a ledger now?” she asked.
Adam ducked his head a bit. “I was never very good at mathematics,” he admitted sheepishly. “I was told there would be no math...” At Diana’s widened eyes—those beautiful, blue-gray eyes were staring at him with what could only be described as shock—he paused. “Unfortunately, I believed them. I can do basic arithmetic, of course, but I have a... a secretary that sees to my ledgers now.” He didn’t add that the secretary was actually his father’s man of business who basically saw to it Adam didn’t overspend his monthly allowance. Beyond that, he hadn’t had an occasion to remember his multiplication tables since his days at Eton.
“I see,” Diana replied with a nod, hiding her disappointment. I can do the books, she decided. At least I’ll know if he’s living beyond his means. Or gambling to excess. She thought of what they might look like if they were married. Of what he might look like when he was eighty, gray and wrinkled, his eyes filled with mischief.
He’ll still be handsome, she thought, a frisson passing through her body just then. How could he not?
She dared a glance out the glass windows of the coach, surprised to see they were nearly to Berkeley Square. “Is your household very... large?” The man was the son of the Earl of Aimsley. Perhaps he didn’t yet have a place of his own but merely had a room—or his own apartments—at Aimsley House. The thought of living in such splendor reminded her of the house in which she had been raised. Her mother always had the best of everything, and not just because her father saw to funding it.
Giving her question a moment of consideration, Adam wondered how to reply. “Not at all,” he finally said. He had a momentary thought of moving back into Aimsley House—there was an apartment they could share on the first floor—but he quickly shook the idea from his head. Perhaps he could find a townhouse in Curzon Street or South Audley Street. But could he do it today? Or tomorrow?
“We would of course require a few more servants,” he added suddenly. “Do you have lady’s maid?”
Diana blinked. She shook her head. “I do not,” she replied. Although there was a maid available to the instructors at the finishing school, she rarely required her services. The other teachers were always more in need of Mae’s services, so Diana had simply learned to do without.
This seemed to surprise him. “You can dress yourself?”
Allowing a giggle that managed to bring the pink back to her cheeks, Diana nodded, deciding not to admit to the lady’s maid she had once shared with her older sister. “I have almost my entire life. I pin up my own hair, as well,” she added with a hint of mischief.
Adam’s eyes widened. “Will you allow me to remove the pins at night?”
Diana gave a start. “Wot?”
Adam leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “At night. Before bed. Will you allow me to remove the pins from your hair?” The words were said in a quiet voice, barely audible above the noise from the horses and the wheels on the cobblestone street. But they were said with such enthusiasm, Diana couldn’t imagine denying the man his pleasure.
“I should like that responsibility,” he added.
Not just one but several frissons passed beneath Diana’s skin just then. They left her a bit breathless, especially when her breasts seemed to swell beyond the confines of her stays. “I suppose. If you really must,” she replied as her eyes darted to the side. He was leaning so close, he could have his hands on the tops of her thighs, his lips on hers with very little effort. She found the idea rather pleasant. Welcome, in fact. “You’re going to kiss me, aren’t you?” she whispered, her breaths suddenly sounding labored.
“Every morning and every night. Should you allow it, of course.”
Allow it? Christ, she’d probably be ordering him to do so!
“What about when you leave for your club?”
Adam blinked when he realized he was about to ask, What club? “If I am welcome to do so, my lady, then I shall kiss you whenever you wish me to.” And because she was gazing at him with such expectation in her eyes, he leaned closer, placed his hands on either side of her thighs so they gripped the edge of the bench, and he kissed her. He meant only to give her a quick kiss—a peck, really—but once his lips were on hers, he found he didn’t wish to let go. He wanted nothing more than to continue kissing her. Continue until one of them had to come up for air.
Since he was able to breathe through a kiss, he had every intention of continuing to kiss her, but the coach came to a sudden halt, the force of which had Diana nearly tossed into his lap. Her arms were suddenly pressed against his shoulders in an effort to stop her forward momentum.
“Oh!” Her blue-gray eyes were round with surprise, and it took every ounce of self-control Adam possessed to keep from gathering her into his arms and kissing her senseless. “My lord, please forgive me,” she managed to whisper. “I should have been—”
His lips were suddenly on hers again, a quick kiss to stifle whatever she was about to say. “You need never apologize for ending up in my arms,” he whispered. About to kiss her again—or rather, pick up where he had left off—he realized the driver had already stepped down from the box and was about to open the door.
There wasn’t enough time to put the young lady to rights on the opposite bench, so he merely pulled her so she ended up sitting next to him, her skirts becoming twisted as he did so. He moved to get up from the bench, well aware of the bulge that had formed against his doeskin breeches. Keeping himself a bit bent over, he gathered up the boxes and bags and moved to open the door at the same time it swung open from the outside.
The driver had stepped back to allow his passengers to depart. Adam quickly descended the two steps and turned to offer his hand. The woman didn’t make a move to stand up, though. “Sweeting?” he ventured. “Is something amiss?” He cursed himself for having helped himself to the second —or was that the third?—kiss. He had probably scandalized her with the first. Now she was probably regretting ever having met him!
Although she didn’t look regretful. She was staring at him with an expression of awe he rather hoped he would pay witness to many times over the course of their lives.
Diana blinked.
Sweeting?
No one had ever used the endearment with her. Not even her father, who had called her mother ’sweetheart’ the entire time she’d lived in the household he provided them. She had even once asked her mother if the man knew her given name. Why, he might not, the woman teased and then suddenly sobered, as if she just then realized it was possible her lover didn’t know her given name.
The following day, Diana heard her father refer to her mother as ’Lil’ at least three times.
The memory of her parents brought a grin to her lips, but it also reminded Diana that she and the viscount hadn’t yet been properly introduced—the viscount still didn’t know her name!
Or who her father was.
Chapter 12
A Countess Provides a Bit of Guidance
At Worthington House
When Lady Lancaster’s coach pulled up in the half-circle drive in front of Worthington House, the front doors opened even before Sims had a chance to step down from the box. He had the town coach door opened for his mistress, giving her a nod and offering a hand on which she placed her gloved hand as she stepped down. Although he took note of her tear stained face, he said nothing.
“I’ve no idea how long I’ll be,” she warned.
“I’ll make my way to the stables, then, my lady,” he replied with a nod. “I hear the earl acquired a matched pair of greys last week, and I’d like to take a quick look, if I might.”
Elise allowed a smile. “Of course,” she agreed before making her way to the front door. Although the rain had stopped, she realized she had left her umbrella at Godfrey’s townhouse. She had half a mind to send Sims after it, but wondered if Nigel—or his master—would see to its return. “Bernard, you’re looking young today. How is that, do you suppose?”
The butler of Worthington House blinked, his usual staid manner proving he’d been caught off-guard by the remark. “Much obliged, Lady Lancaster,” he replied with a deep bow. “I’m to tell any callers that Lady Torrington is in the nursery, and should you wish to see her, I’m to escort you there.”
Amused by the thought of the new mother directing her butler to say such a thing nearly had her giggling. “I know where it ’tis, of course. No need for you to announce me,” she added as she gave up her pelisse to the man. Her hat, firmly pinned in place, would have to remain on her head.
The unmistakable sounds of babies had her grinning before she had reached the top of the stairs. On her way to the nursery, she overheard the countess telling her daughter she was the most beautiful creature on the planet and then telling her son he was the most handsome. She could just imagine their faces alighting in delight at her personal attention. How many aristocrats spent this much time with their children?
The infectious sounds of baby giggles had Elise pausing before she made her presence known to the countess. She hiccupped a sob as she poked her head around the corner of the open door. “I am told you’re only receiving visitors if they come here,” she said with a watery grin.
Adele glanced up from the two babies she held, her surprise at finding she had a visitor apparent in her facial expression. The babies gurgled again, the one looking in her direction giving her a huge grin.
“Oh, they’re simply adorable,” Elise added as she curtsied and entered the room. She hurried to stand before the countess. “And you’re looking especially fine,” she added.
Giving a roll of her eyes, Adele sighed. “As are you. I haven’t seen you in an age,” she complained. “And you have to forgive me. I’m not about to attempt to stand up while holding both of them,” she added as she indicated her children.
“You’re forgiven, of course,” Elise replied. “Now, which one am I allowed to hold?” she asked as she set aside her reticule.
“Take Angelika, if you would,” Adele offered, lifting the arm that held the twin girl. “She spends far too much time in the company of her father. Why, I fear she’ll be smoking cheroots and drinking scotch before she’s a year old,” she complained lightly.
Elise giggled as she took the wide-eyed girl from Adele. “Surely you don’t allow him to hold her while he’s smoking,” she countered.
Adele gave a shake of her head, the movement followed with rapt attention by her son. “Of course not, but I’ve found him in his study holding her in one arm as he’s reading aloud from a book on modern farming techniques,” she claimed with a lifted brow. She shuddered, as if the very thought of the topic was reprehensible. “I can just imagine the two of them conversing on the subject when
she’s old enough to speak.”
This last sentence seemed to amuse the twin boy, George, for he suddenly erupted into a series of gibberish punctuated with kicks and giggles.
Not able to help herself, Elise giggled, tears suddenly streaming down her face as her giggles turned to sobs.
Alarmed, Adele stared at the duke’s daughter. “Whatever is the matter?” she asked. The sudden change in his mother had George’s nearly invisible brow furrowing, and he looked as if he were about to cry. Before he could do so, Adele lifted him to her shoulder.
“Thorncastle finally proposed,” Elise managed between sobs, her distress having a profound effect on the girl she held. Angelika, rather confused by the change from giggles to sobs, stared at the woman who held her, apparently trying to decide if she, too, was expected to cry or if she should merely watch from where she rested in Elise’s arms.
The news wasn’t completely unexpected. Adele had heard during tea that morning that someone had sent a letter to Elise asking for her hand in marriage. Adeline Carlington, Marchioness of Morganfield, had shared that bit of on-dit, although she hadn’t divulged just who the guilty party was. Knowing now that it was Lord Thorncastle, Adele supposed the most common response to hearing such a claim would be, What took so long?
“I thought you’d be thrilled,” Adele countered, her face betraying her surprise.
“I was,” Elise replied, lifting Angelika to her shoulder so she could pat the baby on the back. She was afraid if she didn’t, the poor girl would break out into tears of her own at any moment. “Until he told me he’d thought I’d had an affaire with Lord Reading,” she countered with a hiccup.
Adele’s eyes arched up in surprise. “Whatever gave him that idea?” she asked in surprise.
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