A Viscount to Remember: Regency Romance (Brides of London)

by Joyce Alec

  “I do not understand what they are speaking of, Miss Smallwood,” Daniel protested, the very moment that the gentlemen had left them. “I swear to you, I do not know what they speak of.”

  Miss Smallwood looked up at him, her expression entirely blank and leaving Daniel questioning what it was she was thinking or feeling. He wanted to fall on his knees, wanted to beg her to believe him, but no words came to him. He could find nothing to say to try and excuse his behavior. All he could do was pray that she gave him, yet again, the benefit of the doubt.

  “Such a thing would be easy enough to prove, would it not?”

  Miss Smallwood’s voice was soft and she blinked rapidly as though to chase back tears. “All you need to do is go to White’s.”

  “But I cannot prove it to you,” he explained sorrowfully. “The betting book can never be lifted from White’s. Nor can I beg for you to be allowed to enter. In short, Miss Smallwood, there is no way for me to prove to you that what has been said about me is entirely false.”

  Miss Smallwood’s lips twisted, her eyes still fixed on his.

  “I have done nothing wrong!” Daniel said again, his heart aching within his chest. “I do not understand what is going on, Miss Smallwood! I have not made such a bet. I would not do something so foolish. Please, I beg of you to trust me.”

  “That is rather a lot you are asking of Miss Smallwood, Lord Williamson.” From behind Miss Smallwood, Miss Martin stepped forward, evidently having overheard everything that had been said. Her expression was somewhat stern, but Daniel fancied he could still see the hint of a smile in the corner of her mouth. His anger began to burn all over again. Had she something to do with this?

  “What did you do, Miss Martin?”

  The words came out in a growl, making both Miss Smallwood and Miss Martin start violently.

  “What did you do?” He took a step closer, pointing one long finger in Miss Martin’s direction and seeing the color drain from her face.

  “I did nothing, Lord Williamson,” Miss Martin replied, although her pale coloring hinted at a singular lack of confidence and, mayhap, a little fear. “I have no part in this.”

  Miss Smallwood pressed her lips together, her eyes darting from her companion to Daniel and back again.

  “If you have made a foolish bet and now wish to use me to cover up your idiocy, then I will tell you here and now that I will not stand for it,” Miss Martin continued, her voice growing steadily louder. “I tell you now, Lord Williamson, I have had nothing whatsoever to do with this.”

  “And it is a little unfair to blame Miss Martin when she could not possibly have gone into White’s and written the bet within the betting book,” Miss Smallwood added, her eyes slowly lifting to his face, her lips trembling just a little as she spoke. “I think, Lord Williamson, that I shall return home with Miss Martin. If you will excuse me.”

  “No, please.” Without intending to, he reached out and caught her hand, capturing it entirely. “Please, do not go, Miss Smallwood. I am not involved in this!”

  “And I suppose you had not made arrangements with Lady Burton either,” Miss Martin said scornfully, taking Miss Smallwood’s other arm and giving it a gentle tug. “Do not be ridiculous, Lord Williamson. Miss Smallwood is not as dim-witted as you might think.”

  Desperation flooded him. Until this moment, he had not realized the depth of his affections for Miss Smallwood, for whilst she had begun to infiltrate his heart and his emotions in a way that he had not experienced before, he had thought that he would have time for such feelings to continue to develop to the point that he might openly profess them.

  “Please, Miss Smallwood, believe me when I say that I am not that sort of gentleman,” he protested, still clinging onto her hand and looking down into her eyes, horrified to see that they were glistening with tears. “I am not a cad. This has been set up somehow, in order to make me appear worse than I am. For some reason, someone must wish to set us both asunder.” As much as he wished to throw a dark look towards Miss Martin, he resisted the urge to do so and instead kept looking down at Miss Smallwood, who was not making any attempt to remove her hand from his. “I have begun to care for you deeply, Miss Smallwood. I look forward to our every moment together. My heart holds a fondness for you that I cannot explain. Please, do not turn your back on me now.”

  Miss Smallwood closed her eyes and, to his dismay, a single tear tracked down her cheek. She wiped it away hurriedly, freeing herself from Miss Martin before settling that hand on top of their joined ones.

  “I must think, Lord Williamson.”

  He nodded, feeling a small surge of hope at the way she held his hand. “I quite understand.”

  “There is a good deal I must consider,” Miss Smallwood continued, opening her eyes and blinking rapidly to keep the rest of her tears at bay. “Please, allow me some time, Lord Williamson.”

  Dropping his head, he let her hand go wordlessly, stepping back and feeling as though he had lost some great battle whilst Miss Martin stood in victory.

  “I want to believe you,” Miss Smallwood whispered so only he could hear. “But there is more to this than I am, as yet, aware of.” She sighed heavily, her sorrow and confusion whispering towards him. “I want to trust your words, for my heart also holds a good deal, in the same way as yours.”

  Daniel’s head flew up and he looked at Miss Smallwood in astonishment, but she only nodded slowly, as though convincing herself that she spoke the truth.

  “Tomorrow evening, I shall be at Lord Mercer’s ball,” he told her, filled with a sudden, desperate hope. “Might you dance with me then?”

  It took Miss Smallwood a few moments to decide, her face set and her eyes still sorrowful, but eventually, she nodded.

  “Thank you.” The words came out of him in a breath of relief, a sense of weakness crashing over him. “You cannot know how much that means to me, Miss Smallwood. To know that you have not set yourself against me, as so many others might have done, is nothing less than a blessing.”

  Miss Smallwood gave him a tiny smile. “It is as I have said before, Lord Williamson. I do not immediately trust what someone says unless I have proof of it. I shall, somehow, try and decipher the truth, but I can see from your expression that there is a great deal of trouble in this. A trouble that I do not want to swirl all about me, no matter how much I might feel for you.”

  Daniel could only look down into her face, his throat working painfully as he felt his world begin to crack around him. He could not even wish her good day as she turned and walked away, with Miss Martin walking smartly by her side. If only he had not made that promise not to reveal the truth about Miss Martin to anyone, then he might now be able to make Miss Smallwood understand a little more about the lady she called her companion. Miss Smallwood might then be able to understand why he had chosen to lay the blame for this matter at Miss Martin’s feet—although, no doubt, she would have still protested that she had nothing to do with it.

  “I shall discover the truth,” he muttered to himself, angrily stalking down the path in the opposite direction from Miss Smallwood and Miss Martin. “I shall find whoever is doing this and prove to Miss Smallwood that I am not the gentleman they make me out to be. Of that, I am utterly determined.”

  10

  “This is ridiculous!”

  Daniel stared down at the betting book, horrified to see what was written there in large, bold letters.

  The bet was just as the two gentlemen had said.

  “I did not write this!” He glared all about him, as though the gentlemen within the establishment were the ones responsible for this assault on his good name. “I did not stand here and write this bet on these pages.”

  The gentlemen of White’s began to mutter amongst themselves, leaving Daniel feeling both foolish and angry. The handwriting was in large, flowing letters but was not at all like his own hand. The bet stated that he would be able to accompany any young lady of his choosing during the fashionable hour in the afte
rnoon and then a different young lady to a social occasion he decided. This was to prove, apparently, that he was as eligible and as welcomed by the beau monde as ever before—although there was no mention of the individual that Daniel was meant to be betting against, as had been disclosed by the two gentlemen.

  Nor was there any record of any other gentleman placing bets on his name, for if there was no one to defeat, then there was no need to do so. They would simply be betting for him to fail in his task and, from how it appeared, not many gentlemen believed that to be the case.

  Clenching his jaw hard, Daniel ripped out the piece of paper from the betting book, drawing gasps of both shock and horror at his action. The betting book was almost sacred and to desecrate it so was a great sin in the eyes of the gentlemen who frequented here. Daniel did not care. All he wanted to do was rip up the paper in front of everyone here, proclaim that he had not made any such bet, and demand that if anyone knew who had written this in supposedly his hand, then they had best inform him at once.

  “Ho there, Williamson!”

  Daniel turned around at once, seeing the surprised look on Lord Townend’s face as he slowly began to amble towards Daniel, his eyes on the paper.

  “What is it you are doing, old boy?” Lord Townend asked, his voice amiable but his eyes stern. “Ripping out pages like that—well, it’s just not done.”

  “Someone has written a bet in my name, Townend,” Daniel retorted, his eyes narrowing into a sharp glare towards his friend. “You do not have any thought as to whom it might be now, do you?” He had not meant to add an accusatory tone to his voice, but it was there nonetheless and Daniel saw Lord Townend flinch, as though he had pained him in some way.

  “If you mean to imply that I had something to do with this, then you are mistaken.” Lord Townend’s voice grew rather hard. “What bet is it that you are speaking of?”

  Frustrated, Daniel thrust the paper towards Lord Townend, who took it carefully, flattened it just a little, and then began to read. Daniel watched angrily as Lord Townend’s eyebrows rose in evident surprise, glancing towards Daniel as he re-read it.

  “It is not your hand, that is for certain,” Lord Townend commented, somewhat mildly given the circumstances. “And you say that someone wrote this and then told you of it?”

  Hastily, Daniel told Lord Townend of what had occurred, seeing the astonishment grow in his friend’s expression. Guilt enveloped him, breaking into a thousand pieces as it sat on his heart. He should not have even thought of blaming Lord Townend. That had been entirely unfair.

  “I am sorry,” he finished, coming closer to Lord Townend so as to avoid the stares of the other gentlemen of White’s. “I should not have thought you responsible, not even for a moment.”

  “No,” Lord Townend agreed with a wry smile. “You should not have even thought it, Williamson, although I understand your anger and distress. You say that you were approached by two gentlemen you did not know?”

  “Indeed,” Daniel replied, walking towards a couple of empty chairs and plumping gratefully down into one. “And they accosted me quite openly in front of Miss Smallwood, who, of course, had to know precisely what they were speaking of.”

  Lord Townend did not smile but rather looked pointedly at Daniel, as though he were missing something quite obvious, something that was staring him in the face.

  “She, of course, wanted to know what they meant in its entirety,” Daniel continued, not quite certain what to make of Lord Townend’s pointed stare. “And so the truth came out and she was utterly horrified. Although just as shocked as I, I might add.”

  “How interesting that it had occurred when you were with Miss Smallwood,” Lord Townend replied, rubbing his chin as his eyes roved about the room in evident thought. “First you had to deal with Lady Burton when you were walking with Miss Smallwood in the park, and now you have had this situation occur, again when Miss Smallwood was with you.” He shrugged. “Coincidence, do you think?”

  A rueful smile crossed Daniel’s face. “I have already accused Miss Martin, Townend, and that did not go particularly well.” Seeing his friend’s surprise, he winced heavily. “She could not have written the bet in here now, could she? And I doubt that she would have been able to convince someone to write it on her behalf without someone seeing her do so.”

  “That is true,” Lord Townend agreed slowly, “but can you think of any other who is against you? Whoever is doing this is determined that you shall not have any happiness with Miss Smallwood.”

  A sudden thought struck Daniel. “What if it is to prevent Miss Smallwood herself from finding such happiness?” he asked, peering at Lord Townend, who now appeared to be frowning heavily. “What if this is naught to do with me and solely to do with Miss Smallwood herself? What if I am being targeted so that Miss Smallwood might find herself alone and despondent?”

  Lord Townend shook his head. “I can see why you might think such a thing, but what reason would there be for anyone to do so? Her father, Lord Churston, is quite amenable to her courting, for she now has a companion and is allowed to attend as many social events as she wishes. It is not as though he has someone else chosen for her, is it? At least, not as far as I know.”

  Daniel sighed and ran one hand through his hair. “I shall ask her, of course, but if there is no reason for such a thing then I suppose I must consider it to be my burden.” Closing his eyes again, he let out a small groan. “And Miss Martin is the only one I can think of who wishes me ill, even though I know not her reasons for hating me with such vehemence.”

  Lord Townend, who knew precisely who Miss Martin was to Daniel and why he had to keep silent about his knowledge of her, gave him a long, hard look.

  “You have never once discovered the reason for her dislike of you?” he asked, as though this was almost unbelievable. “And yet you insist on keeping silent about her?”

  “I must,” Daniel replied with a heaviness that pierced his very soul. “I promised her that I would, for she begged me with tears and utter sorrow and it was the only way that I could relieve it.” He shook his head again, aware that Lord Townend knew all of this already. “I have tried to remain out of her affairs as I promised, but now that she seems to be stepping directly in between myself and Miss Smallwood, I do not know what I should do.”

  “But you have no evidence that she has done that,” Lord Townend pointed out. “Aside from the fact that she has tried to keep Miss Smallwood away from you, which Miss Smallwood has steadfastly refused to do.”

  Daniel nodded, sighing as despair washed over him. “Mayhap I should speak to Miss Martin alone,” he suggested, seeing Lord Townend shrug. “If I speak to her directly, insisting that she tell me all, then mayhap matters might become a little clearer.”

  “She has never told you her reasons for calling you a cad?”

  “Never,” Daniel replied, remembering how Miss Martin had accosted him shortly after his introduction to Miss Smallwood. “I have asked her, but she insists that I already am aware of it.” Spreading his hands, he sat back and rested his head against the chair. “I have no understanding, no reason to believe that I am as she states.” It felt as though he had been caught up in a torrential storm, being battered on every side with confusion and doubt and sorrow. If he told Miss Smallwood the truth about Miss Martin, then not only would he break his promise, but he might upset Miss Smallwood all the more because he had kept such a thing from her. In addition, even though he was upset and angry over Miss Martin’s insistence that he was not suitable for Miss Smallwood, he did not want to bring the truth to light without her consideration. She called him a cad and, if he were to break his word and tell Miss Smallwood everything, then that is precisely what he would be.

  Groaning aloud, Daniel sat forward and put his head in his hands.

  “Might I speak to Miss Martin, Williamson?”

  Daniel screwed up his eyes, wishing that there was a clear path ahead for him. “I—I do not know,” he muttered, not lifting his
head. “I do not know what will help. I have Miss Martin’s utter disdain for me, Miss Smallwood’s confusion over the sort of gentleman I am, and now my own upset as to who it is that has tried to ruin my character and for what purpose.” He rubbed his eyes before sitting up and seeing Lord Townend accepting two glasses of brandy from a waiting footman. Accepting one gratefully, he threw it back almost at once, letting the warmth fill his chest and bring him a little encouragement. “Speak to Miss Martin if you wish, Lord Townend. I must discover who is doing this—” he gestured to the bit of paper Lord Townend now held on his knee, “and discover why they wish to disgrace me so.”

  “That is to be a difficult task indeed,” Lord Townend murmured, looking entirely sympathetic. “I shall do what I can to help you, of course.” He gestured towards the ripped page of the betting book. “What shall you do to start?”

  Daniel hesitated, a million thoughts rushing through his mind at once, making it difficult for him to focus on one thing. “I shall find anyone who was present the evening this bet was written,” he decided, knowing full well that each bet was dated. “And at the same time, I shall seek to continue to court Miss Smallwood and attempt to prove to her that I am not the callous, arrogant oaf she might think me to be.”

  Lord Townend nodded slowly, although another frown wrinkled his brow as he looked down at the paper again. “The bet was made in the early hours of this morning,” he said slowly. “At a time when most gentlemen would either be too inebriated to recall who or what was within this place or gone back to their residences.”