A Most Improper Proposal

by Gail Whitiker

  'It is your birthday, Lady Charlton?' Desiree's face brightened. 'Oh, but how splendid. And we are to have a special dinner to celebrate it.'

  'Yes. Well, that was Sebastian's idea, actually,' Lady Charlton admitted. 'He generally plans little surprises for my birthday, and this year, he thought it might be nice to have a formal dinner at home, just the three of us.'

  Desiree's face fell. 'The three of us?'

  'Well, surely you did not think that I would exclude you, Desiree,' Lady Charlton said, trying to sound as though inviting a companion to partake of a family dinner was the most natural thing in the world. 'I could not conceive of celebrating my birthday without you.'

  'But my lady—'

  'In fact, I would be most unhappy if you did not agree to join us.'

  Desiree stirred uneasily in her chair. What was she to do? She dreaded the thought of spending an entire evening in Sebastian's company, but the thought of disappointing Lady Charlton was almost as bad. It was her birthday, after all, and Desiree was honoured to have been invited. Surely she could put up with Sebastian's presence for one night?

  After all, how many more would there be before she left for Yorkshire for good?

  Sebastian pulled the set of high-stepping matched blacks to a halt in front of his aunt's house on the evening of her supposed birthday, and tossed the reins to the groom with the instructions to 'keep 'em warm'. Then, jumping down from the high seat, he climbed the four steps leading to the front door and rapped his cane smartly upon it.

  He had dressed formally for the occasion, wearing a superbly cut black jacket over white satin knee-breeches, white stockings, and black shoes. His jewellery was simple yet elegant, his cravat well but not fussily tied. And as the door swung open to admit him, Sebastian was aware of a state of nerves unlike any he had ever suffered before, because he had no idea whether his plan to encourage Desiree to talk to him would work or not.

  She was already seated in the drawing-room when he arrived, and Sebastian felt his heart turn over at the sight of her. For indeed, she was all that was beautiful. Her gown of pure white India muslin was decorated with delicate gold beadwork around the square neck and hem, and was slightly raised in the front to display a pair of delicate gold and white slippers. The sleeves were short puffs of fabric that left her lovely arms bare, and her hair had been braided and wound in a regal coronet atop her head. But he could sense her dismay as she rose and said, 'My lord, you are early. Lady Charlton is not yet down.'

  'In all truth, I cannot say that I am sorry, Desiree,' Sebastian said as he crossed the room to stand in front of her. 'For I cannot think of anyone with whom I would rather wait.'

  Desiree blushed deeply. 'It was...good of you to plan this for your aunt. I think she is looking forward to the occasion.'

  'I am glad to hear it.' Sebastian moved towards the love-seat and indicated that Desiree should join him. When she sat down in the chair next to the fireplace, he stifled a sigh and sat on the love-seat himself. 'Truth is, my aunt enjoys occasions which allow her to drink champagne and her birthday is one of them.' He smiled at her warmly. 'Do you like champagne, Desiree?'

  'To tell the truth, my lord, I have never had it. My parents did not drink, and there has not been much to celebrate in the last six years.'

  The words were not spoken in an attempt to secure sympathy, but rather to set forward a statement of truth, and Sebastian recognised them as such. He saw her glance around the room, and then watched her rise in agitation.

  'Perhaps I should go and see what is keeping Lady Charlton—' she said hesitantly.

  'Desiree, wait.' Sebastian was on his feet and at her side before she was halfway to the door. 'Please, I wish you would stay. There is much I wish to say to you.'

  'There is nothing that needs to be said.'

  'But there is. You have scarce talked to me since the night of the musicale. And although you told me at the time that...you had received news of a disturbing nature about a friend of yours, I have since come to believe that the news was not about someone else, but about you. And even more than that, that I might have something to do with it.'

  Desiree quickly dropped her eyes. 'Why would you think that?'

  'Because since the night of the musicale, you have taken pains to avoid me,' Sebastian said bluntly. 'You refuse to ride with me, and our conversation, when you are forced to engage in it, is faultlessly polite and absolutely colourless.'

  Indignation brought a flush to her cheeks. 'Colourless?'

  'Yes. Something that you are not, Desiree. Something you have never been.'

  'Something I have never been,' Desiree repeated slowly. 'An opinion formed, no doubt, upon the occasion of our first meeting when you saw me swimming in the pool at Steep Wood.'

  Sebastian's brows drifted upward in surprise. 'What has that to do with this? I thought you resented my bringing that up.'

  'I always have, but now I think that perhaps we should discuss it.' Desiree Walked towards the fireplace and stood with her head held high and her hands clasped together in front of her. 'Lord Buckworth, what did you think of me that first day you saw me in the woods?'

  'What do you mean, what did I think of you?'

  'I thought the question simple enough. Did you believe me to be a household servant or a dairymaid? Perhaps the wayward daughter of a gentleman or the bored sister of a bootmaker?' Desiree tilted her head to one side. 'What did you think was the manner of my upbringing?'

  Sebastian frowned. 'I admit, I thought little enough about it at the time. I remember thinking that you were a beautiful young woman whom I wanted to know better.'

  'You mean who you wanted to bed.'

  Her bluntness startled him. 'It is not like you to be vulgar, Desiree.'

  'And it is not like you to be deceitful, Lord Buckworth. You may have thought I was a beautiful young lady, but did you not also think that I had the morals of a tavern wench?'

  'Of course not!'

  'Then why did you feel no compunction about asking me to be your mistress? For surely such a question suggests a truer perception of my character?'

  Sebastian's dark eyebrows drew together in a frown. 'All right, I admit that at the time I did not know you were the granddaughter of a baronet—'

  'The fact is that you knew nothing about me, Lord Buckworth, other than that I was a young woman who chose to swim in a public place. And based upon that, you drew your own conclusions as to the moral strength of my character.'

  'I drew no conclusions about anything.'

  'Did you not? Then why did you tell all and sundry upon your return to London that you had had the good fortune to dally with a comely young wench whom you found swimming naked in the River Steep?'

  The question was so totally unexpected that for a moment Sebastian found himself at a complete loss for words. Why had he told all and sundry? What on earth was the girl talking about? He had told no one what had happened that day in the pool at Steep Wood. And he certainly had not intimated that he had dallied with her.

  'Desiree, I have no idea what you're talking about.'

  'Are you denying that you spoke to anyone of our encounter in the river?' she challenged.

  'Yes, that's exactly what I'm—' And then, belatedly, Sebastian remembered. Damn, he had told one person. Lord Hutchings, whom he'd always considered a good friend and someone with whom he could entrust details of a personal nature.

  But now, judging by what Desiree was telling him, it seemed that his trust had been misplaced.

  'Yes, Desiree, I did tell someone. But it was a very brief recounting of the events and there was never any mention of—'

  'Pray spare me the details, Lord Buckworth,' Desiree interrupted in a cold, quiet voice. 'You have told me all I needed to hear. Now perhaps you will understand why I have been avoiding you. For obvious reasons, the subject is one I prefer not to discuss. And now, if you do not mind, I shall make my apologies to Lady Charlton and go to my—'

  'Sebastian, I thought I heard
your voice,' Lady Charlton said as she walked into the room. 'Forgive me for not being here to greet you, my dear, but you came a touch earlier than I expected.' She brushed his cheeks with her lips and gave him a knowing glance. 'I hope Miss Nash has been keeping you suitably entertained.'

  'Oh she has, Aunt,' Sebastian said darkly. 'Very entertained indeed.'

  'Good. And Miss Nash, you look absolutely charming this evening,' Lady Charlton said. 'I vow Mrs Abernathy does an excellent job. While she may not have Madame Felice's flair, she certainly has an eye for what works best for you.'

  It seemed to Sebastian that his aunt was trying to move past the tension she could sense in the room and he silently blessed her for trying. At the moment, Desiree looked as if she was ready to bolt. It was only the arrival of Grant, to announce that dinner was served, which prevented her from doing so.

  'Splendid,' Lady Charlton said in relief. 'Shall we all go in?'

  From almost every standpoint, the dinner was a success. The table setting was exquisite, the five course meal—complete with wines and iced champagne—perfectly cooked and beautifully presented, and the appearance of the three people sitting down to enjoy it elegant and refined.

  The only thing wrong was the noticeable lack of conversation between two of the three guests.

  Desiree was thoroughly discomforted by her earlier conversation with Sebastian and had all but retreated into silence. She refused to meet his eyes and spoke to him only when called upon by good manners to do so. She had so desperately wanted to believe him innocent of Lord Perry's charges. Although it was difficult to imagine how, she had clung to the slim hope that someone else had taken news of her escapades in the River Steep back to London. Perhaps even Lord Perry himself, for she certainly believed him capable of lying to get what he wanted.

  But she realised now that it had been a foolish hope at best. Because when Sebastian had been faced with the accusation, he had been unable to deny it. He admitted that he had spoken to someone of their meeting, and it was then that Desiree had truly felt the humiliation. She had attempted to conceal it, of course, acting in as natural a manner as it was possible for her to do, for she had no wish to cast a damper on Lady Charlton's birthday celebration. But she could not help but feel that the tension which existed between herself and Sebastian did precisely that.

  The only good piece of news she received was that Sebastian was going away. But when she found out where, she was hard pressed not to show her dismay over that as well.

  'I'm sorry I won't be able to escort you to Lady Chambray's ball, Aunt Hannah,' Sebastian said in answer to her request, 'but I shall be in Hertfordshire. Lord Mackenzie has organised a shooting party. I leave tomorrow and shall be gone the better part of a week.'

  'A week? Goodness, Sebastian, however will Miss Nash and I manage without you?'

  'Quite well, I should imagine,' Sebastian drawled. 'Especially Miss Nash.'

  'Nonsense, we shall both miss you, dear boy,' Lady Charlton said. 'But I would venture to say it will be a very pleasant time for you, as I suspect Lady Alice and a number of other young ladies will be present.'

  Sebastian touched the napkin to his lips. 'I have no idea whether Lord Mackenzie is inviting ladies or not, Aunt. Given that this is to be a shooting party, I would doubt it.'

  'But you cannot shoot all day and all night, Sebastian,' Lady Charlton reminded him. 'And I am sure that some of the single gentlemen will be happy for the pleasure of female companionship.'

  'I cannot speak for the desires of the other gentlemen, Aunt, but I know that / am looking forward to the opportunity of male companionship and conversation. In general I find it far less confusing to that of women.'

  His comment seemed to bring the subject to a close, and in a somewhat subdued manner the dinner came to an end. He did not stay to linger over port, but accompanied the ladies to the drawing-room, and then took his leave of them. Before he did, however, he briefly drew Desiree aside. 'Desiree, I need to talk to you.'

  'There is nothing to say.'

  'On the contrary, there is a great deal to say,' he whispered urgently. 'I have no idea where you came by the ridiculous notion that I told half of London I found you swimming in the river, for it is certainly not true. You never even told me your name—'

  'Lord Buckworth, please,' Desiree said in an anguished voice. 'I have said that it is of no consequence, and it is not. The damage is done. There is nothing you can say to change that now.'

  Sebastian clamped his lips together in frustration. Damn it, why would she not listen to him? They needed to talk about this. He needed to find out exactly what had happened so that he could have some idea as to how to go about repairing the damage. Unfortunately, he also knew that now was not the time. He could tell from the look on Desiree's face that she had shut him out, and he knew that his aunt was watching them from the corner of the room. But he would have his answers.

  'Very well. We will speak of this upon my return, Miss Nash,' Sebastian said firmly. 'It is far too important a matter to leave unresolved. For now, I bid you good evening.'

  The heaviness that had been weighing on Desiree's heart all evening seemed to spread to the rest of her body. It was the last time she would ever see him, and no matter what had happened between them, she still loved him. Which was why she wanted to hold on to this last sight of him, to press it like a flower between the pages of a book where she might look at it for all the rest of her days.

  'I hope that...all goes well for you in Hertfordshire, Lord Buckworth.'

  'I am sure it will. I doubt anything untoward happens in the country. It seems that there is a great deal more to worry about in the city. Good evening, Miss Nash, Aunt Hannah.'

  'Good night, Sebastian, dear,' Lady Charlton called. She waited until the door closed behind him before saying, 'Thank goodness he is planning to spend the week with Lord Mackenzie. He has been noticeably withdrawn of late, and he was certainly not happy this evening. Indeed, I am beginning to think there is more on Sebastian's mind than he is telling me.' She sent a casual glance in Desiree's direction. 'Are you retiring, my dear?'

  'Yes, I am rather tired this evening, Lady Charlton,' Desiree said, avoiding her eyes. 'It must have been the champagne.'

  Lady Charlton sent her an amused glance. 'You had but half a glass, my dear. Still, I suppose if one is not used to imbibing, it would take little more than that to have an effect. Well, good night, Desiree. Sleep well.'

  Desiree nodded and quietly left the room. As she listlessly climbed the stairs, she thought how ironic it was that Lady Charlton had finally called her Desiree, when Sebastian had made a point of addressing her as Miss Nash.

  In his carriage on the way home, Sebastian thought about what Desiree had told him and shook his head in anger and disbelief. To think that something so small had come back to haunt him in such a way. When he had returned to London last summer after his brief stay at Bredington, and had told Lord Hutchings about the young woman he had encountered there, he had never thought that a year later he would be regretting that confidence.

  Sebastian cast his mind back to the evening in question and tried to remember exactly what he had said to Hutchings. Certainly, it would have been nothing damaging to Desiree's reputation. After all, what had he known of her, other than that her parents were dead and that she was single? She hadn't even told him her name. She had simply been a beautiful, intelligent young woman whom he'd had the pleasure of talking to while they had both enjoyed a brief dip in the crystal clear waters of a secluded pool.

  Well, perhaps that wasn't entirely true, Sebastian admitted ruefully. He had likely enjoyed it a good deal more than Desiree had. Knowing what he did of her now, he could just imagine how embarrassed she would have felt at being discovered by a man in such a state of undress. Her chemise had given her precious little protection from his eyes, and he had made no secret of his enjoyment of her body. But had he truly spoken of her in as lewd a manner as Desiree seemed to think?

 
; No, he was convinced he had not. Even then, Sebastian had felt a certain amount of affection for her. Something about her had touched him even at that early stage in their relationship. So if the tale which had made the rounds of the gentlemen's clubs in London had been of a damning nature, it was Hutchings who must be held accountable. For whatever reason, he had seen fit to take a story— which had been told to him in confidence—and had embellished it in the hopes of making it a more interesting tale to tell. And for that, Sebastian would never forgive him. Hutchings had violated his trust, and an innocent young woman had been made to suffer the consequences.

  But there was still a question which needed to be answered. A question that Sebastian couldn't help but think was key to the issue. And that was, how had Hutchings come to learn Desiree's name? Sebastian himself hadn't known it the night he'd spoken to Hutchings, so how could anything he'd said have ended up being attributed to Desiree?

  Was it possible that he wasn't the only gentleman who was familiar with the lovely Desiree Nash from Steep Abbot?

  Desiree broke the news of her impending departure to Lady Charlton two days later.

  'You wish to leave?' that lady repeated in dismayed surprise. 'But why, my dear? I thought you were happy here.'

  'I am, but it is partially because of you that I must go. I do not wish to take advantage of your kindness any longer.'

  'My kindness? What nonsense, Desiree. You do a job for me and I pay you for your services. That is not kindness. It is simple economics.'

  'You do much more than that and we both know it,' Desiree said softly. 'You gave me a home when your nephew suddenly found himself in an awkward situation. And when he realised that he had made a mistake, you offered me a position which prevented me from having to go elsewhere. You call me your companion and pay me to act the part, yet you neither treat me as a servant, nor outfit me as one. And when it comes down to it, Lady Charlton, we both know that you really do not lack for companionship. You have an abundance of friends, and were you to show even the slightest inclination towards marriage, you would have any number of eligible gentlemen dancing attendance upon you. So you see, you really have no need of a companion.'