Langsdene closed his eyes for a moment. No more than an hour ago, he had been sure of Winsome. He had planned to enter the Carsten house and seek an interview with Mr. Carsten to formally ask for his daughter’s hand. “Until further notice, I will be in the library.” His whole body numb, he took the stairs two by two back to the hallway and into the only room in which he could drink undisturbed, the only one with a lock on the inside of the door.
After snatching a bottle of brandy and a glass from the shelves by the window, he sat slumped in the leather couch that faced the rows of books, trying to recall Winsome’s earlier cartoons of him. If his memory served him right, she had drawn him watching the unloading of the Elgin marbles while his booted foot rested on the neck of woman trying to reach a loaf of bread. He had seen himself depicted as a wealthy earl making sure that a wretched female starved.
During that time in his life, he was spending hundreds on a mistress who knew all manner of tricks to keep him in her bed. His conscience had begun to niggle. Within a week, he had set up a fund in his district to care for the families of the soldiers who would never return from the war.
The next few cartoons were along the same lines, pricking his conscience about one thing or another. He couldn’t support every family in the entire land, but he realized he needed to set up schooling for the children in his own county. He was also learning to hate the cartoonist, who was pointing out his faults, but ignoring those of Prince George, who had by this time spent untold funds on the Brighton Pavilion and even more on his own pleasures.
Langsdene swallowed the first glass of brandy in two or three gulps and poured another. For years, Winsome had pointed out his deficiencies. For reasons unknown to him, he was depicted as the typical conscienceless aristocrat. And he resented being brought up short, time and time again.
Strange thing, that, now he came to dwell on the matter. His insides now as numb as his face, he poured his second glass of brandy, leaving the bottle within easy reach on the floor beside the couch. On occasions, people stopped him to tell him of their own attempts to succor the needy. He wasn’t the only one whose conscience had been pricked. Perhaps, as Winsome had said at first, the lampooning was not so much directed at him as to society at large. Perhaps she had seen him as Rich Earl Anyone. After all, he was no one but a wealthy aristocrat.
But she had specifically said that she had wanted to teach him a lesson. In that case, a lesson about what? Clearly not about his treatment of the poor. In that he was no rarity. Could she honestly have been put out that he hadn’t seen her again? Could self-possessed Winsome be so petty?
He would have liked to see her again had circumstances not intervened, but the unexpected succession to the earldom meant he had more responsibilities. First he had to organize his father’s funeral. His mother’s state of fragility added another load to his shoulders. After the reading of the will, she sobbed for days.
While trying to comfort her, he had meetings with lawyers, solicitors, agents, and never-ending discussions about finances. Then he needed to listen to the problems of the tenant farmers, his man of business, and his agent. He reached his majority a few months into his earldom. After that, he had a small amount of time to sit and ponder, but he had no idea how to approach Winsome, being callow and beyond his depth. His days with Rose’s young crowd had ended. Should he have driven to the country, grinning and hoping for more cupboard love from Winsome? That would not have sat well for him. And so he put her down to one of life’s experiences.
His vision clouding, he leaned back in the chair, trying to concentrate on the ornate ceiling. Like the patterns, his thoughts wavered and turned back upon each other. If he kept in mind the fact that appearing in Winsome’s damned cartoons hadn’t injured his reputation one jot, but had instead led him into conversations about the needy, he couldn’t complain about her treatment of him. When he tried to visualize the drawings he could remember, he found only vague memories. If he recalled rightly, none had been an offence to society. Some that didn’t appear to refer to him in any way had been rather entertaining, but of course he couldn’t laugh. His privacy had been invaded.
In the fuzz of his thoughts, he focused on the idea that Winsome hadn’t meant to tell him about the cartoons. She’d been in the middle of delicately getting rid of him when the conversation had suddenly turned. What had they been discussing before that? He took another long swig from his brandy glass with his eyelids shut. He had mentioned a possible baby. She hadn’t turned a hair. Surely that was unusual. Surely.
He tried to concentrate but the empty glass slid onto the floor.
CHAPTER 15
Winsome managed to enter the house, tell her mother she’d had a lovely week, go upstairs, and ask Jane to find her a cold compress for her aching head.
“Poor dear,” Jane said sympathetically. “Travelling is so wearisome. Lie back, Miss Winsome, and I’ll bring ice as soon Cook cuts off the chips.”
Winsome kept her eyes closed so that when Jane returned she didn’t need to do more than say, “Come back to dress me for dinner when Mama and Papa are about to sit down. I want the door closed until then, please.”
The cool compress eased one of her aches. The other would take far longer.
Jane returned when the daylight had begun to fail. Winsome dressed in something or other, and entered the candlelit dining room as the first course was being served. “Has your poor head eased now, dear?” her mother asked solicitously. “That’s a blessing. It’s hard to manage when your head aches.”
Her father, who had risen to his feet upon her arrival, settled her in her place before he went back to his own. He cleared his throat. “Judging by the look on your face, you told him.”
She stared at her plate. “Of course I did. You know I am a fool.”
Her father drew a deep breath. “I think he is grown up enough to bear the truth. Pass the artichokes, my love.” The footman, who was not Papa’s love, hastened to do the task. When he had, Papa told him he would not be required until he heard the service bell. “I don’t think he would find the conversation at all edifying,” he said to Winsome when the man had left the room.
“I don’t plan to talk about what happened. John hates me now and it’s all I deserve.” Winsome glanced at the dish of fricasseed rabbit with disinterest.
“Oh, my darling daughter. You have loved him for so long.” Mama reached out and settled her hand on Winsome’s arm. “I was quite sure he felt the same. He took you out for a single drive and after he brought you back, he seemed to be another man. When he glanced at you, his eyes held such an interesting expression. And he didn’t turn a hair when we said ridiculous things to each other. He seemed to understand you from the start.”
“I told him he was too stuffy for me.” Winsome’s voice wavered. Her eyes prickled.
“I would call that rather unreasonable of you, my dear.” Papa gazed at her.
“I meant to be unreasonable,” she said, blotting her stupid eyes with her wrist. “I can’t marry him.”
“Did he ask you?”
“He said he planned to ask your permission first.”
“In that case, I quite understand why you refused him. You can’t possibly marry a man who is gracious enough to abide by the rules of good manners.” Papa pulled his glasses down to the tip of his nose.
Tears tricked down her cheeks. “He’s not gracious. He is wonderful.”
Papa considered his words. “Now that he knows you have used him as the butt of your wit, what does he plan to do about his knowledge?”
“I don’t know. I don’t mean to see him again,” she said, blotting her eyes on the tiny handkerchief Mama passed to her.
The silence lingered. Mama and Papa glanced at each other. “Perhaps we should retire to the country for the season. I’m sure Ann can find another chaperone.”
Winsome raised her gaze. “I wasn’t suited to the role.”
“Ann had no complaints. We saw her on Tuesday, or was it Wedne
sday? She said she missed you. She hoped you were enjoying yourself.”
“That was kind of her. Shall we leave now?” Winsome rose to her feet.
“It’s too late tonight, dearest, to begin packing. Let’s say the day after tomorrow.” Mama smiled at her, with worry in her eyes. You’ll forget him, Win. If he can’t forgive you, he is not worth your tears.”
“What tears?” Winsome asked as she wiped her cheeks with her table napkin.
CHAPTER 16
Langsdene woke up in the dead of night. His neck ached. He had fallen asleep in a slumped position. The room still tended to spin but he could stand. He wobbled to the door, from beneath which the light wavered, and snicked the handle. A shaft of light hit him in the eyes. He squinted against the brightness. “Is that you, Thomas?” he asked in a weary voice.
“Yes, my lord. Steady there. Take my arm.”
“Am I a child?” He sighed.
“No, my lord. Barlow is ready for you upstairs.”
“Have you all waited up for me? How gratifyingly stupid. I am quite capable of undressing myself.”
“Of course, my lord,” Thomas said in a soothing voice.
Nevertheless, he delivered Langsdene to Barlow, who took one look at Langsdene’s face and refrained to speak. Again Langsdene slept. In the morning he awoke with a splitting headache. “Rightly so,” Barlow said in a reproving voice as Langsdene rubbed his forehead with the heel of his palm. “You know how brandy affects you.”
Which was why Langsdene had wanted the numbing effect last night.
This morning’s aching head almost brought him to his senses but his thoughts still wavered from one idea to the next, none settling on single hint as to why Winsome had rejected his proposal. No matter what she said, she loved him. She couldn’t have remained in his arms night after night, making love, laughing, and chasing kisses, nor been so tender during the past week if all had been pretence. He knew the courtesan’s tricks, unlike Winsome, who didn’t need a single one.
Winsome simply had the power of her delightful nature, her wicked sense of humor, and her intelligence. For reasons unknown to him, she had decided she would not be a suitable life partner for him. Perhaps madness ran in her family. He didn’t care. Whatever the problem was, love would get them through. Although, after his backlash, he may have lost his chance with her. He would never know unless he tried again.
But with this head of his, he would make a mull of his words. He needed a day for her to think over his proposal and her instant rejection. In the meantime, he soaked his head in cold water and took his horse to the park for a refreshing gallop. He and Soldier came home tired. How could he love a woman and lose her before he even had her?
A night spent at home preparing to confront her the next day should have left him more confident by the morning, but the only ammunition he had was his love for her. He breakfasted far too early, almost afraid to turn the pages of the newspaper. If Win had depicted him again, the way she had used him would tell him if he had hope or not. To his great relief, the other cartoonist had taken over for the day, one whose style was harder, less witty, more to the point. He decided he needed to take a ride while he idled until the correct hour for a morning visit.
Since the park was between his house and hers, he took his horse past her home in the vague hope that she might be riding this morning, too. Instead he saw two carriages lined up in front of the house. The first, the baggage vehicle, was being loaded with valises and small trunks, leaving room for the servants who stood in a bunch, gossiping. The coachman of the second sat aloft while his lackey walked out of the house with a ladies’ dressing case.
Langsdene sat, indecisive, imagining that the family had decided to leave the city. Winsome had made no mention of this. He swung down from his horse, passing the reins to the nearest servant, and strode into the house, his heart beating fast. Mr. Carsten stood by the hall table, checking his fob watch. He raised his gaze, blinking at Langsdene.
“Good morning, sir,” Langsdene said brusquely. “You are leaving for the country, I presume. Winsome. Is Winsome leaving with you?”
“She is.”
“Might I have a private word with you?”
“It will do you no good, my lad. She has made up her mind.”
Langsdene opened the nearest door, which happened to be of all things, a library. “If you will, sir.”
Mr. Carsten, an unreadable expression on his face, stepped into the room with Langsdene.
Langsdene bowed formally. “I am besotted by your daughter, Mr. Carsten. May I have your permission to pay my addresses to her, sir?”
Mr. Carsten laughed. “Doing this backward, aren’t you? My permission will make no difference to her. But yes, you have my permission for all the use it is. I don’t know why she is set against marrying you, when she is clearly as besotted as you are, but females have always been a puzzle me. And I have a houseful of ‘em.”
“Do you think you could persuade her to speak with me, now?”
The other man mulled the matter. “You raise an interesting point. As you see, we are about to leave for our country estate. Perhaps you should give her a week to prepare her argument.” He stared into Langsdene’s eyes as if awaiting an answer.
The moment lingered while Langsdene crossed his arms and stared at his boots. “You are right, sir.” A smile curved his mouth. “A wise man would catch her unaware. If you give me her direction, I will go to her.”
“Up the stairs, the third door on the right. Good luck.”
Langsdene nodded, and headed for the stairs, which he took two by two. He tapped on the third door on the right.
“I’m almost ready.” Winsome’s voice.
Presuming her words meant she had dressed, he entered the room. A thin elderly woman gasped and stood in front of her, acting like a palace guard, stiff and straight, her chin pulled in.
“Out.” He indicated the door with his head. She evaluated the expression on his face and stalked out, the expression on her face nothing but anxious.
“How dare you?” Winsome inquired, as if she wanted an answer. “If you have come to argue me into marrying you, you will be wasting your time.”
He paused, expanding his chest with a deep breath. “I love you, Win. I can’t give you up without a fight. I know you love me, or else this past week wouldn’t have happened. You are not the type to use a man and then discard him.”
She turned away. “Regardless of my feelings, I am not the wife for you.”
“That is my decision, is it not, to choose the woman I love?”
She sat on her bed. Today she wore an elegant green and red taffeta gown, with long sleeves. Her hair had been loosely caught on the crown and curls trickled down the sides of her lovely face, which held a serious, contemplative expression. “You said you wanted children,” she said in a weary voice.
“I did. I do. I gather you have some objection to what is a comparatively normal need. If you won’t marry unless I make sure you don’t have a baby, I will do my best, but we all know that no method can be guaranteed, except the obvious. Do you want to live a life of abstinence, Win? I think that horse has already left the stable and you didn’t object to the galloping, if I may be so crude.”
She remained silent, her gaze on his face. “I’m too old to have babies.”
“You are younger than I.” He frowned. “If I am not mistaken, Rose is about to have her second and she is your age.”
“She had her first when she was twenty-one. Her body is prepared.”
“I’ve never heard mention of a woman needing to be prepared to have a baby. It is a natural thing. Why do you imagine your body isn’t the same as other women’s?”
“We Carstens are not an overly fertile family. My sister—”
“—is not you. I don’t want you making decisions for me, Win. If the woman I love can’t bear a child, we will adopt one. First and foremost, I want you.” He reached out and took her hands, determined to hold her gaze.
She drew a shaky breath. “I’m afraid,” she said in trembling voice. “I have always been afraid I was too forward. And then when I should have been forward and sent you a letter of condolence when your father died, I hesitated. If I had not, you could have answered if you wanted to pursue a friendship, but I was scared you wouldn’t. So I didn’t try.”
He shook his head. “My behavior was out of line. I knew better but I suppose I had the same reservations as you. You were so popular with everyone and I was a young fool. I didn’t imagine you were being anything but curious, which is understandable. I was too.” He gave a rueful shrug. “Neither of us had had any experience. I used to envy Temple, who was so sure of himself.”
“I envied Rose, who had you all at her feet. I didn’t believe you would look twice at me. It seemed that fate had put us together when I found you in my special hiding place. You were so nice to snuggle into. My behavior was appalling, but I wanted to know about your body.”
“It’s not an episode that either of us need to dwell on. We were together when perhaps we should have been.”
Her lips curved ruefully. “I did appreciate the lesson, I must admit. But you stayed in my mind. When I had the opportunity to sell my cartoons, I needed a running theme. I decided that I could use you in my cartoons as the typical thoughtless aristocrat. I knew your face so well, you see, after thinking about you for years.” She stared straight into his eyes. “And now I don’t know what to do.”
“Marry me. I love you dearly, Win.” He picked up her hands again and held them against his chest.
“But will I be enough for you?” She stared at his chest.
“Or will I be enough for you? That’s a chance we have to take, but if we take it together, the journey will be easier. I pledge my life to you.”
“I don’t know how you can, after the awful thing I did to you.”
“I have been thinking about that. I’m not so sure you didn’t make me a better man. Yes, you gave me unwanted publicity. Once your cartoon even made me laugh. You certainly made me approachable, and that was possibly a boon. I’m a stick-in-the-mud on my best day, but you caused me to think on occasions, which no one else has.” He took her hands in his. “Please look at me.”
Artfully Wicked Page 9
