“The very same idea that had him believing I’d had an affaire with your husband,” Elise replied. She blinked, realizing she hadn’t intended on bringing up that particular point.
Frowning, Adele angled her head to one side. “You mean, you didn’t?”
It was Elise’s turn to blink. “Of course not!” She stared at the countess a moment, confusion evident on her face. “You thought I’d had an affaire with Grandby?”
Adele shrugged the shoulder that didn’t have a baby resting on it. “Truth be told, yes. You’re a widow, and he only ever bedded widows until he married me,” she reasoned.
Elise blinked again. “I solemnly swear, I was never in the company of your husband in such a manner,” she stated firmly. “And I cannot believe you thought I ever was. Especially since you were being courted by him when Lancaster died!”
Ignoring Elise’s bit of a tirade, Adele shrugged again. “You don’t find him appealing?” she wondered.
Elise allowed an audible gasp, shocked at Adele’s response. Despite finding the woman’s husband a rather personable gentleman and handsome in the typical Grandby fashion—most all the Grandby men were handsome—she had never given Milton Grandby, Earl of Torrington, any consideration in that regard. The family ties were too close. “He’s family, Adele. Although we’re not directly related...” She paused as she considered the family genealogy. “At least, I don’t think we are directly, we certainly are by marriage in a number of ways. Why, it would be like being with a cousin,” she added, giving an involuntary shudder.
Apparently appeased by the explanation, Adele lowered George back into her arms and gave a grin when she realized he was sound asleep. “Is that all Thorncastle did wrong? Think you’d had an affaire? Or two?” she whispered.
Elise sighed, lowering Angelika to discover the girl’s eyes quite wide and studying her as if she were memorizing her. The thought that she, too, could have a baby like Angelika nearly brought tears to her eyes again. “You sweet creature,” she whispered, which had the baby grinning before her head suddenly fell against Elise’s shoulder. Within a moment, the girl was sound asleep. Elise turned her attention back to the countess and sighed. “I suppose,” she replied in a whisper.
“You two were meant to be together,” Adele said quietly. “You told me yourself years ago.”
Elise’s eyes widened, remembering that she had told Adele—and several other acquaintances back in the day—that she and Godfrey Thorncastle had declared their love for one another before she was even fourteen years of age. How odd to be reminded of it now, after so many years and a bad marriage.
“He adores you. He doesn’t have eyes for anyone else,” Adele went on. “Why, I don’t even think he employs a mistress. In fact...” She paused as she seemed to realize something. “I have never seen Thorncastle in the company of a woman. At least, not while he’s been in London.” Her eyes suddenly widened in alarm, but before she could put voice to a query, Elise waved a staying hand in her direction.
“He is not, I assure you,” she said, thinking perhaps Adele was about to wonder if Godfrey Thorncastle was a molly.
“Well then, you have your answer. Marry the man, Elise. You know you love him. He loves you. What more is there?”
Elise regarded her friend for a long moment and finally sighed. “You make it sound so easy...”
“Do not make it harder than it is,” Adele warned. “You can go on living the life of an independent woman, but should you choose that path, you will never have one of these,” she said quietly, indicating the babe she held. “At least not legitimately.”
Elise gave a sideways glance to the sleeping babe she held and nearly broke out bawling. Instead, she allowed a heavy sigh and gave Adele a wan smile. “Perhaps I’ll speak with him on the morrow,” she allowed.
Adele grinned. “Should I put these two in their cribs and ring for tea?” she asked in a whisper.
Shaking her head, Elise said, “Thank you for the invitation, but I think I shall go home and read a book,” she murmured.
With that, she rocked herself out of the chair and carried Angelika to her crib. Once the babe was covered with a light blanket and tucked up against a pillow, Elise took her leave of the countess and of Worthington House.
Chapter 13
A Conversation over Ices
Meanwhile, at Gunter’s
“Coming, darling,” Diana said to Adam as she regarded him from the town coach, remembering how she had referred to him on the steps at White’s. The word had come so easily, she hadn’t even given her reply a second thought. Probably because her mother used to use the endearment when replying to father.
Adam’s gloved hand closed around hers as she stepped down from the town coach. “Thank you, sir,” she managed as she gave a nod to the driver. She was about to retrieve a coin from her reticule to give to the driver, but Adam passed one to him before she could. Glancing up, she realized the man had dropped them off directly in front of Gunter’s. Why, he had even driven the town coach all the way around the square so that they were deposited on the pavement in front of the shop rather than in the street on the opposite side under the maple trees.
“Much obliged,” Adam said before leading his intended to the front doors. They opened as if by magic, two waiters stepping aside to hold each one of them open.
Determined to keep her eyes in her head—she had only ever been to Gunter’s with her mother, and that had only been two times in her youth—Diana found she also had to keep her mouth closed.
The thrum of the mid-afternoon crowd seemed to die down a bit as they made their entrance. Aware of eyes turning their way, of heads bent in quiet query, Diana struggled to hold up her head and scan the room without making eye contact with any of the patrons. She suddenly wondered if anyone would take note of how dated her gown might be, and then remembered the spencer was one of this Season’s designs—her one splurge when she received her last pay from the school.
One of the men who had opened the front door stepped in front of her and led them to a small table at the back of the shop. He held a chair for her before Adam could even reach the table, and Diana seated herself.
Having removed his short top hat, Adam placed it on the extra chair at their table. His dark hair appeared nearly black, although the touch of gray at his temples was more pronounced. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this place so busy,” he remarked as he turned to regard the menu board. “What’s your pleasure, my lady?”
Well aware several patrons had made note of their appearance in the popular confectioner, Diana had half a mind to take her leave of the place—as fast as she could run. What if she was recognized? What if one of her students happened to be enjoying an ice at this time of the afternoon?
Given the hour, though, none of them had better be at Gunter’s. They had better be in either Miss Betterman’s painting class or learning French from Miss Anders. Besides, the viscount’s easy manner and affable presence was a welcome respite from spending her days in the company of other teachers and students. Assured there could be no one who would recognize her, Diana took a breath and relaxed a bit. Thought of how easy the kiss had happened in the coach. She couldn’t remember a time when she had felt so at ease in the company of a man.
Not that she had ever been in the company of a man in such a manner.
She blinked. Why, besides her father, she hadn’t spent this much time with a member of the opposite sex!
Ever.
“Or perhaps you’re only interested in... a lemonade or—”
“Oh, I’d adore an ice, of course. Strawberry,” Diana interrupted with a nod. “I apologize for taking so long to decide. There are just so many flavors from which to choose,” she added with a sigh.
Adam regarded her with an arched eyebrow. “My second-favorite flavor,” he murmured, his teasing voice suggesting the other flavor might not even be on the menu.
When the waiter appeared to take their order, Adam saw to it as Diana
dared a quick glance around. She shouldn’t feel guilty for having come, she decided. These people were no better than she. Even the aristocrats—and she wasn’t even sure there were any besides the gentleman who sat almost across from her—were simply other people who had the good fortune to be born to it. As for being seen in the company of one—other than her father—well, stranger things could happen, she decided.
“A penny for your thoughts, my lovely,” Adam whispered, his head angled in her direction.
Diana blinked, about to claim he would be short-changed when she watched as his eyebrows arched up on his forehead. She nearly blinked again at hearing his endearment.
My lovely.
Goodness, the man had said it as if he believed it! Well, she did maintain a passing resemblance to her youngest aunt, and that woman was still rather lovely despite being in her thirties.
“Do not try to deny it,” he admonished her. “I could practically see the wheels turning. Solving a particularly vexing math problem, perhaps? Or inventing a new dance? We could use one of those,” he remarked in a lowered voice. “Something along the lines of a waltz, but a bit slower. More... intimate.”
Allowing a grin at his salacious comment, Diana shook her head. “I was deciding I shouldn’t feel at all... uncomfortable... about being here at Gunter’s,” she replied.
It was Adam’s turn to blink. “Are you supposed to be teaching a class right now?” he asked in alarm, not even considering he might be the reason she seemed a bit ill-at-ease.
Diana allowed an impish grin. “It’s my day off, actually. Much to the relief of my arithmetic students.”
“Ah, but not to your dance students, I should think,” he countered.
Her grin widening to a smile, Diana angled her head. “It all depends on those who have two left feet, I suppose,” she replied her thoughts on the poor student who had been paired with Lord Graham’s son at last night’s ball. “Four of my students were in attendance at Lord Weatherstone’s ball last night, but they did nothing to embarrass me,” she added.
Adam’s eyes rounded. “You were there? How is it I didn’t find you then?” He wondered, straightening in his chair.
Diana shook her head, realizing she probably shouldn’t have said anything. “I was merely watching from the balcony. I wasn’t... I wasn’t an invited guest,” she explained with a shake of her head.
“I was not there long. I didn’t even dance,” Adam countered, his voice betraying regret. “Had I seen you, though, I would have asked you for at least three.”
“Bounder,” she accused lightly, knowing he couldn’t have asked for more than two dances. It just wasn’t done.
She watched as Adam gave a slight shrug, his amusement apparent in the crinkles at the edges of his eyes and in the slight lift on the left side of his lips. Considering what she had just said—again—she wondered if he was always this easy to converse with. She could almost imagine being married to him. Meeting for the morning meal in a bright and comfortable breakfast parlor. Conversing over a spot of tea in the afternoon. Enjoying a bit of banter over dinner. Waiting for him to join her in the parlor...
Well, maybe not the parlor but perhaps somewhere more comfortable.
... After he finished his port and a cheroot.
Well, maybe not the cheroot.
“Do you smoke cheroots?” she asked suddenly.
Adam blinked before giving his answer a good deal of consideration. “On occasion,” he answered rather carefully. “Never in the house, of course. Usually at White’s.”
“You don’t have one after dinner?” Diana countered, leaning away from him when the waiter reappeared with their ices on a tray. “With your port?”
The viscount allowed a chuckle, giving a nod and a coin to the waiter after the decorative cups were set down on the round marble tabletop. “Only when I’ve dined at my club, my lady,” he allowed. He took a breath and sighed. “I take my cues from my father, you see. And he takes his from my mother.” This last was said with a wink as he leaned forward and dipped a spoon into his ice. “Bon appetit, my lady,” he added as he watched her admire her mound of strawberry ice in the round crystal-stemmed cup.
“Bon appetit,” she murmured in reply, lifting her spoon to stab the ball of smooth red ice. She wondered at the viscount’s words. She couldn’t imagine an earl following the dictates of his countess. Was it possible for a man to have so much regard for his wife that he would give up smoking in the house? Smoking in his study?
After Adam swallowed his first bite and displayed an expression of appreciation, he leaned toward her again. “Do you know who my mother is?” he asked in a whisper, as if her identity might be a secret to anyone but those in the ton.
Nodding, Diana angled her head and furrowed her brows as if in thought. “Patience Waterford, sister of Harold Waterford of Horsham and daughter of a well-regarded businessman from the Horsham District. Her niece, Olivia Waterford, is married to Michael Cunningham, son of Viscount Cunningham. Miss Waterford married Mark Comber, Earl of Aimsley, the year—or two, rather—after her come-out, having gained his notice at a ball where it has been said they danced every dance despite the rule that they dance only two together.” This last was said with an arched brow, as if she found the news scandalous. She was about to continue with a remark about the Comber children when Adam held up a staying hand.
“My father insists it was only two dances, but he made sure they were the longest sets of the evening,” he explained quickly, as if he felt the need to correct her mistaken impression. “Which is what I would have done last night with you, had I known you were in attendance.”
Diana was sure she saw his eyes twinkle. Goodness! Did the man have any idea how endearing he was? Why, his entire face lit up when he spoke of his parents.
“They’re hopelessly in love, I tell you,” he went on. “My mother has my father wrapped about her pinky, and her forefinger, and all the others he hasn’t yet decorated with rings from Rundell and Bridge,” he claimed with a sigh. “In fact, I think he’s just bought her some kind of newspaper,” he murmured, his brows furrowing suddenly. “He claims he couldn’t give me the particulars—some secret that must be kept for the protection of us Combers—except to say that my mother was a natural and would probably earn him enough blunt to stay solvent should we ever have another year without a summer.” He sobered suddenly. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to bring up... money,” he whispered quickly.
Not the least bit offended at the mention of blunt, Diana regarded him for a moment, rather surprised at his sudden silence. “I rather enjoy hearing you speak of your parents,” she murmured in reply, leaning towards him so their heads nearly touched. “It seems to make you... happy,” she said. And human. Faith, but if this went on much longer, she would be asking him for his hand in marriage!
Adam nodded. “It does,” he agreed. He allowed another chuckle before leaning back in his chair. Just a bit of his bergamot pear ice remained in the bottom of his crystal dish, and he toyed with it using the point of his spoon. “I do hope our marriage can be as pleasant as theirs,” he whispered.
Diana inhaled softly at hearing his words, said with such longing that she thought he might shed a tear. “As do I,” she replied, resisting the urge to snort when she considered the unlikely scenario.
He doesn’t even know my name!
What will he think when he discovers—?
“Enough about me and my disgustingly-in-love parents. What of you?” He paused a moment, his eyes taking on a look of mischief. “No. Don’t tell me. Allow me to guess,” he said suddenly. “You’re from... Kent.”
“Marylebone,” Diana corrected him, a bit of her realizing he would learn the truth of her at any moment and see to their quick departure from the shop.
Or perhaps just his.
“Marylebone,” he repeated. “Your father was a... vicar—”
“Manages an estate.” She wasn’t about to admit just how. Or how large.
Adam angled his head, obviously impressed. “And your mother was the daughter of a... baron,” he guessed with an arched eyebrow.
Diana’s eyes widened. “A baronet,” she whispered, rather surprised at how close he had come on that point. She supposed her mother’s illegitimacy wasn’t really an issue at this point.
“They met at a garden party—”
“The theatre.”
“And fell in love at first sight.”
Blinking, Diana shook her head. “I rather doubt that,” she argued. “In fact, I do believe my mother had reason to slap my father across the face before the second act had finished.”
“Because she was already in love with him,” Adam stated with a firm nod. Noticing how Diana stared at him in disbelief, he added, “Women always do that when they’re in love with a man.” When he saw that she was about to put voice to a protest, he added, “I have that on good authority. My mother said as much when she told me of the first night she danced with my father. She slapped him across the face. Hard right hand to his left cheek.” He pantomimed the hit using his own left hand so it nearly impacted his left cheek, his head suddenly jerking to his right. “Left a mark for days,” he claimed, as if he’d been present for the assault. “That’s according to my father. Mum said she already knew she would be his countess, but she wanted him to know she wasn’t going to simply agree with everything he said.”
Diana wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cry at his comment. “Indeed?” she managed for lack of a better reply.
And yet they had danced two of the longest sets of the evening.
Adam slowly settled back into his chair, his gaze suggesting he regretted having told her the story. “Although I don’t relish the thought of you slapping me across the face, I would abide it should you decide it... necessary,” he ventured. “Do keep me informed as to your intentions.”
This last was said with entirely too much hope, Diana thought, which had a burble of a chuckle erupting before she had a chance to cover her lips with one hand. “You make it sound as if you would welcome it!” Aware she had captured the attention of nearby patrons, she had a thought to simply slide down and out of her chair and through the floor in an effort to disappear from the room.
The Secrets of a Viscount Page 9
