A Viscount's Proposal

by Melanie Dickerson

  Surely it wouldn’t come to that.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Leorah accompanied Mr. Moss to bring Mr. Quimby to tend to Lord Withinghall. He made a splint and wrapped Lord Withinghall’s leg much as the viscount had done to Leorah’s arm. To spare him some embarrassment, Leorah stayed in the carriage while this was being done, for the bone was out of place, Mr. Quimby said, and he would have to move it back before he could put on the splint.

  Having just broken her own arm, Leorah could easily imagine the pain this would cause, and she sat shuddering in the damp carriage at the thought, saying a prayer for the man. Compassion was a Christian commandment, after all. But actually liking Lord Withinghall . . . even God couldn’t expect that of her. And yet, she did feel some gratitude toward him.

  After the setting and the splinting was done, they carried Lord Withinghall to the carriage, where he stretched his leg across one seat. Even in the dim lantern light, she could see how pale he was.

  Immediately, Leorah saw that there was not enough room in the carriage for them all, especially with Lord Withinghall’s broken leg taking up one entire seat.

  “Shall I stay here,” Mr. Moss offered, “and you can send the carriage back to fetch me after you’ve delivered Miss Langdon and Lord Withinghall to Glyncove Abbey?”

  “Surely we can find a way for us all to fit,” Mr. Pinegar said.

  “I could ride with the driver,” the surgeon suggested.

  “But it is so wet and cold, and you do not have appropriate clothing,” Leorah said. She hated to think of it.

  “There is a solution,” Mr. Pinegar said. He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure it would be proper.”

  “What is it?” Leorah was damp, her arm was aching, and she just wanted to get home. Men could be so missish sometimes.

  “You could sit on the seat with Lord Withinghall and hold his leg and make sure it doesn’t move around.”

  She glanced at the viscount. His eyes were closed, and he looked rather pale. “Do you mind, Lord Withinghall?”

  “No. Let us be off.” His voice, at least, was strong.

  Leorah lifted his leg very slowly and carefully, watching his face to make sure she wasn’t hurting him. He seemed to be holding his breath, but he didn’t flinch, so she sat down and gently placed his lower leg across her lap.

  As the carriage lurched forward, Leorah clutched Lord Withinghall’s leg, trying to keep it from moving with the rocking and jolting of the carriage. She couldn’t tell how much pain he was in, for he kept his eyes closed and said nothing, but there was a tension around his mouth and a hardness about his chin.

  It seemed to take forever to get to Glyncove Abbey. What would have taken Leorah only about fifteen minutes on horseback in the daylight took them an hour under their present circumstances.

  Once they got there, there was such a chaotic shouting of questions and confusion. Lord Withinghall was carried to one of the guest bedchambers, and Leorah heard his gruff, forceful voice more than once, growling out orders.

  It was very late before Leorah was able to speak to the stable master about sending someone out to fetch Buccaneer home. Leorah explained that Buccaneer was alone at the edge of the woods, but it was impossible to explain exactly where. It was decided that they would go fetch him at first light.

  Leorah’s mother forced her to sit for the surgeon and allow him to take off the splint Lord Withinghall had put on—and here she had to explain again for Nicholas and Julia all about breaking her arm and Lord Withinghall’s service to her—and so Leorah watched as the surgeon bared her wrist, carefully looking and gently pressing, deciding the bone was where it needed to be, and then he put on a new splint.

  Finally, Leorah was allowed to go to her bedchamber. Julia accompanied her as she climbed the stairs, surprised that it was still dark outside; it had been such a long day and night.

  Julia whispered to her, “Do you mean that you were with Lord Withinghall all this time? Were you alone with him after dark?”

  “Yes, after the poor coachman was killed.” She waited for Julia to say more, but when she didn’t, Leorah asked, “Do you not think that the gossip will die down after some time has passed?”

  Julia frowned. “I’m afraid it may take quite some time. But don’t worry. Everything always looks brighter in the light of day.”

  But Leorah could hear the worry in Julia’s voice and could see it in the way she was biting her lip. This kind of scandal could ruin much more than just Leorah’s position in society. If her reputation were tainted, it could hurt her brother and sister-in-law as well as their charity work.

  Let it not be so.

  The next morning Leorah awoke earlier than she had anticipated after her late night and discovered that the grooms had already recovered her horse, who was back safe in his stall, and had been given a new shoe, brushed, dried, and fed—though he was a little more restless and irritable than usual.

  Next she inquired after their unanticipated guest, Lord Withinghall. Leorah’s own maid, Becky, said that the surgeon had declared that he must not move at all but stay in bed for at least a week, and after that he must either be carried or use a wheeled chair for another four weeks. After that it would be another two weeks before he could put any weight on his broken leg. If he didn’t follow those instructions, it was very likely he would forever have a limp and be forced to use a walking stick.

  Lord Withinghall had refused to voice his agreement with the instructions and had immediately sent word to his own physician and surgeon to come at once to give their opinions. The viscount had growled at Tess, one of the maids, and made her cry, for which the other servants had teased her.

  “He is an angry bear of a man,” Leorah said, “and I’m sure Tess isn’t the first person from whom he has evoked tears.”

  Becky smiled and seemed hopeful Leorah would tell her more about the sullen viscount. But one glance down at her splinted arm reminded her that Lord Withinghall had acquitted himself well the day before, on the whole, showing great courage, generosity, and even compassion toward her—which was difficult to assimilate with how much animosity had existed between them.

  Leorah dressed quickly with Becky’s help, being careful of her wrist, surprised that she hardly felt any pain in it, and hurried down to breakfast. After a hearty plate of her favorite breakfast foods, she wandered outside and headed for the rose garden.

  The bushes were mostly bare, but one had a few stray roses. Leorah picked a dark-pink one and held it against her cheek. The soft coolness of the petals against her skin made her close her eyes and sigh. How good it was to feel safe and to know her mother, brother, and sister-in-law were inside the house just behind her, relieved to have her home, her mother and Julia even crying a few tears of joy when they’d hugged her. They would never force her to marry Lord Withinghall simply out of fear of a ruined reputation.

  But would she be harming them if she did not marry him?

  To think of becoming Lord Withinghall’s wife . . . to endure his glowering looks, his irritation and control, his opinions of what a proper wife should do and be and think . . . He’d probably force her to read Hannah More’s treatises on proper religion and morality and forbid any sort of fiction reading.

  She pressed the flower against her lips, breathing in its soothing scent and exhaling all her fear. “Lord, help the woman, whoever she turns out to be.”

  Edward lay propped in bed, a book lying open in his lap. Miss Hannah More’s writings and exhortations to the aristocratic class of Britons to have a right heart before God had never failed to inspire and cheer him before. Her latest book, titled Christian Morals, was the new sensation, and he had been hard pressed to get a copy before leaving London, as the first printing had sold out immediately. But Miss More herself had sent him a copy with her own handwritten inscription to him in the front. And yet, in his present state of mind, even his favorite of Miss More’s works, Thoughts on the Importance of the Manners of the Great to General Soc
iety, had failed to hold his interest for more than a few minutes.

  It was all too irritating that both his doctor and his surgeon had echoed the Langdons’ surgeon, Mr. Quimby, whose advice was to stay in bed with as little movement as possible for at least a week and then to stay off his leg for several weeks after that to ensure the best chance of the bone healing properly. It was downright humiliating to be so confined, a veritable invalid, and unable to travel to his own home, though Grimswood Castle was only fifteen miles away!

  But there was nothing he could do about a broken bone. He must be patient and spend his time the best he could, even though he was stuck in a house with reckless Leorah Langdon, whose very presence in his overturned carriage invited scandal and threatened both their reputations. He could only pray that nothing came of it, and that the gossip would never reach London.

  A knock came at the door. “Come in.”

  Nicholas Langdon entered the room. “Good morning, Lord Withinghall.”

  “Langdon. I would like to thank you for hosting me and my injured leg. Please sit down and keep me company, if you will.”

  “I am at your service.” Nicholas Langdon drew up a chair. “I hope everything is to your satisfaction.”

  “Of course. I am afraid I’ll be trespassing upon your hospitality for a few more days, as the physicians seem to think I’ll be crippled if I’m not expressly treated like an invalid for some weeks to come.”

  “Do not concern yourself. I have every intention of keeping you here as long as you will stay. No need to think of leaving until your physician says you are well enough.”

  “I am obliged to you, but it is most inconvenient.” Edward glanced contemptuously at his splinted leg.

  “My lord.” Langdon gave him such an earnest expression that it made Edward realize he’d been thinking only of himself, even when he was speaking of trespassing on Langdon’s hospitality. He now turned his attention on Nicholas Langdon, wondering what made him look so serious. “I believe your carriage may have been tampered with.”

  Somehow he did not feel surprised, but if there were any lingering effects of the laudanum the doctor had given him the night before, they disappeared instantly. “Go on.”

  “My groom and coachman tell me that the splinter bar appeared as though someone had sawed it nearly in two, causing it to break, which separated the horses from the carriage. And what’s more, your fifth wheel, which should have helped prevent it from tipping, was missing.”

  Someone had sabotaged his carriage. “I shall find out who did this, and they shall be duly punished.”

  “With your permission,” Langdon said, “my father shall notify the justice of the peace and the sheriff, as he is the Lord Lieutenant here, and we shall discover the miscreant responsible.”

  “No.” Edward took a deep breath and let it out, forcing away the heat that was rising into his head. “I shall send word to my sheriff in the north county. He is very discreet and is not known here. I shall have him search this matter out. Perhaps we can keep our suspicions a secret for now. Let the villain think he has perpetrated his evil deed without discovery while my man quietly investigates.”

  Langdon sighed, then nodded. “If you wish it. Do you have such evil enemies? Have you created such a stir in Parliament that someone wants you dead?”

  “So it would seem.”

  “I should like to help look into the matter—”

  “No offense to you, Langdon, although I trust you implicitly, but I’m afraid you will attract more attention than my sheriff would if you begin asking questions. He is more experienced in these matters. You understand.”

  “Of course. It shall be as you wish.” Nicholas Langdon gave him a respectful nod. “I shall send for a lap desk so that you may write your summons to your sheriff.”

  “Thank you.” Edward chafed at his broken leg now more than ever. His blood boiled at the thought that he couldn’t go and help see to the matter himself. Though his enemy had intended, no doubt, to murder Edward, they had instead murdered an innocent man—his coachman, Pugh. God, help me to root out the culprit and bring him to justice.

  CHAPTER NINE

  That afternoon, Edward again tried to read, but he found himself staring at the wall instead. He imagined himself going back to the places where they had stopped to let his horses rest on their journey from London. There had been only three stops where the culprit might have tampered with his carriage. Surely someone would have seen something suspicious at one of those places. Or perhaps the person had inflicted the damage while his carriage had been waiting in the mews behind his town house. There was always a watchman or groom on duty, but perhaps they had fallen asleep on their watch, or been bribed. What he would not give to be able to go out and demand the answers to his questions.

  A knock came at the door. “Enter.”

  Nicholas Langdon stepped inside.

  “Anything new?”

  “Not since this morning. How are you doing? Is there anything you need?”

  “Only to get out of this bed. But it is good you are here. Come, sit, and take my mind off how much I wish to find out what happened to my carriage and who murdered my coachman.”

  “I can see why you’d be anxious to get information. But your letter to your sheriff went out by messenger, so I hope you shall see him by morning, if not tonight.”

  Yarbrough was a capable, wily, but loyal sort of man. Just thinking of him made Edward feel somewhat calmer.

  “I was hoping to distract you with conversation, if you wish.”

  “Very good of you.”

  “And I also wanted to say that my sister, Leorah, tells me I have you to thank for the fact that she came home safely last night.”

  Edward cleared his throat. Thinking and talking of Langdon’s sister wasn’t the kind of distraction he would have hoped for. The way Edward had placed his body protectively between her and the careening, flipping carriage had possibly caused him to sacrifice his leg in the process. But he was too much of a gentleman to mention that.

  “Even Mr. Quimby said the splint you put on her arm protected her from a worse injury, possibly a very serious one. I must say, I’m impressed with your medical skills. Is there no end to your talents?”

  “Yes, well.” He thought about telling Langdon that his sister was the last person he’d expected, or wanted, to practice medicine on, but he restrained himself.

  “Any other gentleman would have done the same.” But before he finished speaking, he realized that was not true. “Any gentleman who had an inkling of how to fashion a splint, that is.”

  “Perhaps.” Langdon raised his brows doubtfully. “But I shall compliment you no further, as you are too modest to accept. Please allow me to thank you, nevertheless.”

  “Of course.”

  “Bad luck about the leg, though.”

  “Indeed. I can be thankful, at least, that it occurred in the off season and not while Parliament was in session.”

  “Yes, that is a mercy, at least. What are the latest goings on in the political realm?”

  “Oh, the usual. The Whigs are pretending to defend the cause of Princess Caroline while ripping her reputation to shreds in all the newspapers. But perhaps that ridiculous muddle will distract them while I push through our petition to open a second school for the poor.”

  “I pray it is so. You must come and hear all the great stories Wilson has to tell about the good the boys’ school has done for the families of the neighborhood.”

  “I would love to hear them.” Ah yes. This was cheerful conversation, just the thing he needed to stop him from thinking of his own irritations. “If he is able, perhaps he could make the trip to Lincolnshire this winter, if the roads aren’t impassible. I shall give him a sufficient donation to make it worth his while, of course.”

  “I shall write to him directly, inviting him to come, as I am sure his wife and my wife would enjoy some time together.”

  “Very good, although I hope you forgive me i
f I implied inviting him to your home. Of course I meant after I am able to return to my own home—”

  “Nonsense. My home is your home.”

  “Thank you.” It was humbling to be so helpless. Helplessness was rather an old feeling for Edward than a new one, but it had been some years since he’d felt it as keenly as he did now. He didn’t like it, but he could at least be grateful that Langdon was an old enough, and good enough, friend that he believed himself welcome.

  “Not at all. Are you in any pain?”

  “The pain is minimal, and I would rather feel it than fill myself full of laudanum.”

  “What are you reading there?” He pointed at Edward’s open book.

  “Hannah More’s latest work, Christian Morals.”

  “You must have bribed someone to get a copy of that.”

  “Very nearly. Actually, my man was having trouble securing a copy, and I received this one from Hannah More herself.”

  Langdon raised his brows. “Many people would envy you. What is good Hannah’s latest word on our decadent society?”

  “Decadent is the word. She paints us all, especially the upper classes, in no favorable light, and all of it is true, I’m afraid. She seems to see into the very soul of Britons and has found us to be a hypocritical, unkind, selfish lot. All except William Wilberforce, of course. Whether we have the fortitude to change is another debate.”

  “It is no very great likeness to you either, my lord, you who champion the cause of the poor and fatherless street children of London.”

  “Do not flatter me, Langdon, when you yourself are much more worthy of praise than I, and John Wilson more worthy than either of us.”

  Langdon smiled.