A Most Improper Proposal

by Gail Whitiker

  Desiree slowly began to back away. 'I will not stay here and be spoken to in such a manner.'

  'It is difficult to keep a rational head when you are around me,' he continued as though she hadn't spoken. 'When I remember how warm and soft you felt in my arms—'

  'Leave me alone.'

  'I want you, Desiree,' Lord Perry whispered. 'I want you in my bed.'

  Desiree turned her face away in revulsion. 'No!'

  'Take care before you answer, my dear. As I told you before, I can make life very pleasant for you. I have the wherewithal to set you up very nicely—'

  'I will not listen!'

  'Clothes, jewels, carriages, you have only to say the word and they will all be placed at your disposal.'

  Desiree wanted to clap her hands over her ears to shut out the words. 'There is nothing you can say that would tempt me to consider such an offer. You are a vile and hateful man and—' Abruptly, Desiree broke off. She heard the sound of voices drifting towards them. Thank heavens, someone was coming!

  Lord Perry must have heard them too, for he glanced towards the door and his face darkened in anger. 'This is not over, Desiree. I will have you. It is only a matter of time.'

  He looked over his shoulder to see who was coming—and Desiree saw her chance. She picked up her skirts and flew past him, running down the flagstone terrace until she reached the French doors. Only then did she stop to risk a look back over her shoulder.

  But Lord Perry was gone. The terrace was deserted.

  She turned back around and walked straight into Sebastian's chest. 'Lord Buckworth!'

  'You seem out of breath, Miss Nash,' Sebastian observed quietly. 'Were you running?'

  'Yes. That is, I did not wish...to keep you or...Lady Charlton waiting,' she gasped.

  Sebastian glanced towards the darkened terrace, and then back at her. 'Who were you out there with, Desiree?'

  'No one, my lord. I simply went out when I grew...overly warm. Unfortunately, I lingered longer than I should have, and when I realised that I was probably keeping you waiting, I ran back.'

  Sebastian watched her in silence for a moment, and then said, 'My aunt is waiting for you at the door. Go to her.'

  Desiree hesitated. 'Are you not coming?'

  He glanced towards the terrace again. 'I shall be there directly.'

  Desiree felt her stomach clench tight. There was nothing she could do to stop him from going out on to the terrace. If she tried, she would only succeed in arousing his suspicions further. But what if he were to encounter Lord Perry? If Sebastian had witnessed her meeting with Perry earlier in the evening, and now discovered him out on the terrace—after she had told him that she had been alone—what would he think?

  'Very well, I shall wait with Lady Charlton,' Desiree said, knowing she could do nothing else. She pressed her gloved hand to the pulse beating at her throat and walked as calmly as she could back into the ballroom. '

  Sebastian waited but a moment before turning and walking out on to the terrace. But what he saw there did nothing to arouse his suspicions. A young couple were seated on a stone bench engaged in polite conversation, Lord Rumsden was enjoying a cheroot at the far end of the stone walk where his wife was unlikely to find him, and a turbaned matron was fanning herself down by the palms. There was no one else in sight.

  Frowning, Sebastian walked back into the ballroom. He had fully expected to find Lord Perry on the terrace. Because one thing had been very clear just now. Desiree had been in a hurry to leave the terrace, but not because she was anxious to join himself or Lady Charlton. She had been running away from someone. The look in her eyes hadn't been one of embarrassment.

  It had been one of fear.

  Chapter Seven

  To Desiree's relief, Sebastian did not comment upon her flight from the terrace during their ride home. Nor did he allude to it as he bid her goodnight at Lady Charlton's door. Nevertheless, the memory of it stayed with her through the long hours of the night and caused her an uneasy sleep from which she awoke feeling troubled and little refreshed.

  'Well, Miss Nash, did you enjoy yourself at the ball?' Lady Charlton enquired at breakfast the following morning. 'I daresay it made quite a change from the social life offered at Mrs Guarding's excellent Academy.'

  'I cannot even speak of it in the same breath,' Desiree said, forcing a smile to her lips for the benefit of her employer. 'The opportunity for a schoolmistress to mingle with elegant society was usually reserved to the Christmas ball at the Angel or the annual summer picnic on the grounds of Lord Perceval's estate near Abbot Quincey.'

  Lady Charlton, who had been perusing her copy of the Morning Post, suddenly sat back in her chair. 'Abbot Quincey. Is that not in the area of Steepwood Abbey?'

  'It is.'

  'And were there not some rather bizarre goings on up there last year?'

  'My lady?'

  'It seems to me I recall hearing rumours about the Marquis of Sywell's young wife running off and leaving him after less than a year of marriage.'

  'Oh, that. Yes, you did.'

  'There was a considerable age difference between them, was there not?'

  'Some forty years.'

  'And...was there not also some speculation that the Marquis himself might have murdered her? Or are you at all acquainted with the story?'

  Desiree bit back a smile. For a woman who professed to have little interest in gossip, Lady Charlton seemed particularly well informed about an event which had taken place in a small village at quite some distance from London. Not that she would have appreciated anyone pointing that out to her, of course.

  'It would have been impossible to live in Steep Abbot and not be familiar with the story,' was all Desiree said. 'Louise Hanslope was actually the ward of the Marquis's bailiff, Mr John Hanslope. Many believed she was his daughter, but as nothing was ever proven, I cannot comment upon the validity of the rumour. Louise left home at the age of fourteen, when Mrs Hanslope died, and then returned seven years later to find her guardian on his deathbed. The Marquis, having also gone to pay a final visit to Mr Hanslope, met her there. By all accounts, he was so smitten by her appearance that he proposed to her on the spot.'

  'Good Lord! And she accepted him?'

  'Indeed. They were married at her guardian's bedside.'

  'What, as the poor man lay there dying?'

  'So I have been told. Needless to say, the haste of the marriage took many people by surprise.'

  'Yes, I should rather think it would,' Lady Charlton remarked with a frown. 'But why would such an eligible young woman agree to marry such a reprehensible man? And one so very much older than herself?'

  'I have no idea, my lady,' Desiree admitted. 'Some said Louise was so distraught at finding her guardian at death's door, that she hardly knew what she was doing when she accepted the Marquis's offer. Others believed she married him because he was old, and because she knew she would soon be a very wealthy young widow.'

  Lady Charlton shook her head. 'Goodness, what fodder that must have provided for the prattle-boxes.'

  'To be sure.' Desiree smiled. 'Of course, gossip has always been rife about the goings on up at the Abbey. Especially as regards the Marquis himself.'

  'Yes, a most unsavoury character altogether,' Lady Charlton commented as she returned her attention to the paper. 'I remember hearing tales of Sywell's disgraceful behaviour in town when he was but a young man. He and his rapscallion friends were forever losing money at the tables or on horses, and Sywell himself was reputed to have a vile temper. I am not surprised his wife ran off and left him. Serve him right, the old reprobate.' She signalled to the footman for more coffee. 'Now, on a more positive note, I thought we might visit Hatchard's this afternoon, Miss Nash, and after that, pay a call on the modiste. Lady Rumsden advised me that Mrs Abernathy has received a shipment of new shawls and I am of a mind to have one. I would like you to accompany me.'

  'Yes, of course,' Desiree said, though her thoughts were elsewhere.

&
nbsp; 'As for this evening, I have accepted an invitation to a soiree at Lady Appleby's in Portman Square. Letitia is a most amiable woman, something of an Original like myself, and her receptions are always well attended. There will be dancing and conversation and it should make for a pleasant evening.' Lady Charlton turned the page of her newspaper and sent Desiree a probing glance. 'Do you play whist, Miss Nash?'

  Desiree slowly put down her cup. 'Yes, I do. My parents and I passed many a winter evening so engaged. I found it to be a most enjoyable pastime.'

  'And were you skilled at the game?'

  'I seem to recall that I acquitted myself tolerably well.'

  'Good, then you shall be my partner,' Lady Charlton announced with satisfaction. 'Lady Appleby always sets up tables for whist and I cannot abide lacklustre play. I once had the misfortune to be paired with a gentleman who kept forgetting which suit was trump. It made for an abysmal evening. We were trounced every hand.'

  'I think I can safely say that I remember which cards to play,' Desiree assured her with a smile. Then, picking up her cup again, added in as casual a voice as she could effect, 'Will your nephew be escorting us as usual?'

  'Sebastian? I think not. I seem to recall him saying that he was engaged to dine with Lord Mackenzie this evening, and I cannot imagine him crying off from that to attend a card party. Lord Mackenzie has two daughters and the eldest, Lady Alice, is quite a beauty. I suspect she has more to do with Sebastian's visit than her father.'

  Desiree stirred uneasily in her chair. 'Really? I was not aware Lord Buckworth was looking for a wife.'

  'I doubt he is, my dear,' Lady Charlton said ruefully. 'But it is long past time he gave thought to marrying and settling down. I lecture him on the subject every few months. You see, he is in possession of a considerable fortune and he must have an heir. Thankfully, for all his apparent recklessness, Sebastian does take his responsibilities seriously. So when I mentioned to him that Lady Alice seemed a very pleasant sort of girl, he obviously took my words to heart.'

  Desiree made no reply, but she continued to mull over Lady Charlton's words well into the morning. In fact, she was still thinking about them as she followed her employer into Mrs Abernathy's shop later that afternoon. Strange that she had never given any thought to the idea of Sebastian marrying, when it was only natural that he would. He owed it to his family and to himself to secure the line. But perhaps it was because Sebastian had shown absolutely no signs of a man bent on duty that Desiree had not thought him so inclined. Certainly, his laissez-faire attitude towards life in general made it hard to imagine him settling down with Lady Alice Mackenzie to the staidness of married life.

  Or was it just the thought of him settling down with any woman that Desiree found so hard to accept?

  'Miss Nash, a moment if you will,' Lady Charlton called from the other side of the shop. 'I require your assistance.'

  Grateful for the distraction, Desiree hastened to her employer's side. 'Yes, my lady?'

  'I am hard pressed to make a decision between these two shawls. Which one do you prefer?'

  Desiree glanced at the exquisite lengths of fabric draped over the counter and resolutely bit back a sigh. Woven of the softest wool, either would have been a pleasure to own, but the price put them well beyond the means of someone like her. 'I suppose that would depend upon what you intended to wear them with.'

  'I did not ask for a discussion, Miss Nash, I asked for your opinion.'

  'In that case, I would choose the white with the green border.'

  Lady Charlton's eyes narrowed. 'You prefer it to the cream one with the blue?'

  'I do.'

  'Very well, we shall take both shawls, Mrs Abernathy,' Lady Charlton said to the waiting modiste. 'The cream and blue for myself, and the white and green for Miss Nash.'

  Desiree gasped. 'But...Lady Charlton, I thought the shawl was for you!'

  'It was, but I had already decided upon the cream one, so your preference of the white made everything that much easier. Now, come along, Miss Nash. The library awaits.'

  Hatchard's on Piccadilly was both a bookseller and a circulating library, and on this particular afternoon it was very well attended. Ladies perused the shelves for the latest offerings by the Minerva Press or for books of an improving nature, while the gentlemen leaned towards those offering intellectual variety and stimulation. Shakespeare happened to be Lady Charlton's particular favourite, and while she headed towards that section of the shop Desiree moved to the shelves stocked with translations of Greek and Roman history. It was a long time since she had found time to indulge her natural love of reading. Her father had kept a notable library, of course, but much of his material had been old. Here, Desiree was able to find more recent treatises, along with opinions of the learned men of the day.

  What she had not expected to find was Sebastian standing in the aisle next to her.

  'Lord Buckworth!' she exclaimed.

  'Miss Nash.' He gallantly doffed his gleaming black beaver. 'What a pleasure to find you here among the dusty tomes. Does my aunt accompany you?'

  'Strictly speaking, I accompany her, but yes, she is over there by the window.'

  'Ah yes. Perusing Shakespeare. I might have known. She is a voracious reader of the man's work. Along with Niccolo Machiavelli.' A mischievous light came into Sebastian's eyes. 'Are you familiar with Machiavelli's work?'

  An answering twinkle appeared in Desiree's. 'Wise men say, and not without reason, that whoever wished to foresee the future might consult the past,' she quoted knowledgeably.

  Sebastian grimaced. 'I might have known. I was informed some time ago that you were not of simple mind.'

  'Ah, but if I could not claim familiarity with the work of such a statesman and writer as that, how could I profess to know my subject?' Desiree teased him. 'And what brings you here on such a fine day?'

  'The opportunity to secure a rare book by Pierre Francois Galliard,' Sebastian told her. 'John Hatchard knew that I had been looking for it, and when he chanced to stumble upon a copy of it in Dublin, he was good enough to pick it up for me. I came by today to collect it.'

  'I see.' Desiree glanced up at him, and then just as quickly away. His proximity was disturbing, as was the way he kept looking at her. 'How fortunate.'

  'Yes, I thought so. So, has my aunt been keeping you busy?'

  'We do seem to fill our days. So far this week, we have been to the modiste's three times and the mantua-maker twice, we have ordered new china from Mr Wedgwood's showroom, and a set of matching tables from Waring & Gillow. Oh, and yesterday we spent a few hours at the British Museum so that I might see Mr Towneley's collection of classical sculptures.'

  'Dear me, all that on top of Lady Rumsden's ball and Mrs Taylor's musicale,' Sebastian observed. 'I wonder that you have energy enough to last the week. Tell me, Miss Nash, do you look forward to a quiet sojourn at home this evening or are you engaged on yet another social outing?'

  Desiree sighed. 'We are expected for cards at Lady Appleby's. Lady Charlton has asked me to be her partner.'

  'Has she, by Jove? Then you must be a very good player indeed, for my aunt cannot abide people who are not.'

  'Fortunately, my mother taught me the rudiments of the game and she had a very good head for cards,' Desiree said with a smile. 'I expect to acquit myself reasonably well.'

  'I have no doubt that you will.' Sebastian's gaze travelled over her face, lingering for a moment on the soft curve of her lips. 'As you do... so many other things.'

  His voice was disturbingly low and it affected Desiree deeply. But then, everything about Sebastian had begun to affect her of late. Even now, her heart was beating like a breathless young debutante's.

  The problem was, she wasn't a breathless young girl any more. She was a mature woman of five- and-twenty, and one far too sensible to be swept away by pretty words and flattering sentiments. 'You are...very kind to say so, my lord, but I assure you there are many things I do poorly. However, I understand that...y
ou are also engaged for the evening,' Desiree said, anxious to change the subject.

  'You seem to be well informed of my activities, Miss Nash. Am I to conclude that my aunt has been speaking about me behind my back again?'

  A stain of scarlet appeared on Desiree's cheeks. 'She does occasionally mention your name, my lord, but always with the utmost affection and respect.'

  'Now you are bamming me,' Sebastian said ruefully. 'Actually, I was to have dined with Lord Mackenzie but a wretched toothache has forced him to cry off.'

  'Oh, what a shame. Your aunt will be most disappointed.'

  He frowned at her comment. 'And why should she be?'

  'Because I understand that Lord Mackenzie is Lady Alice's father.'

  'And Lady Alice is?'

  'A young woman Lady Charlton seems to think would make you an admirable wife,' Desiree said as she reached for a dictionary on Greek mythology. She was pleased with the steadiness of her voice as she delivered the message. She was not pleased with the way her hands suddenly began to tremble as she flipped back the cover of the book and pretended to read the first page.

  'Lady Alice. I might have known,' Sebastian said in exasperation. 'Would that people minded their own business as keenly as they seem to mind mine. Well, what do you say, Miss Nash? Do you agree that I should cast myself into the matrimonial nets?'

  'It is really no business of mine, my lord,' Desiree said, running her finger down the column of Greek characters whose names began with the letter A. 'Whether you choose to marry or remain single is surely your own decision to make.'

  'I have always thought so, but it seems to be a topic of great interest to everyone else. Still, I suppose we all get there in time. Even you.'

  'Me?' Desiree repeated in surprise.

  'Yes, you. Well, surely it is your hope to eventually marry and settle down. Perhaps raise a family?'

  The nature of the question alarmed her, but not as much as did the sudden and very disturbing awareness of who she wanted to marry and settle down with.