Page 44 of One Waltz with the Viscount

‘Sir William Kingsley,’ Miss Shepherd repeated. Her face was pale, and he realised she had never expected to find out the truth of her parentage. Of course there was still a chance they had the wrong man, but Henry did not think so.

‘He went to school with my father and Mr Peterson, and in his youth was briefly entangled with Miss Otterly before she married and became Mrs Hiltshire. Which could explain the mention of her mother, Mrs Otterly, in your father’s letters. He was also briefly entangled with Lady Pryce, a widow who had a bit of a scandalous reputation back then, although I am not sure why he would mention her in his letters to your mother.’ He paused, resisting the urge to reach out and take her hand. ‘I really think this could be your father. I do not know if it brings us any closer to finding your sister, but I suppose there is a chance she discovered his identity too and decided to confront him.’

‘We need to see him. Immediately.’ Miss Shepherd rose from her seat as if planning on storming his residence straight away.

All thoughts of abandoning his help seemed to be forgotten, and he found he was inordinately pleased. Deep inside he knew his reaction was two-fold. Firstly, he wished to spend more time with Miss Shepherd, even though it would make it harder when she did finally leave his life. Secondly, it meant he had a few more days before he had to start his search for a wife in earnest. He could not send Miss Shepherd out alone now, not when they were so close.

‘I hardly think banging on Sir William’s door this late in the evening is going to produce the best result.’ He caught hold of her hand and her eyes met his. ‘I will take you there first thing tomorrow morning, but you will not achieve anything tonight, except upsetting the people you want to ask for help.’

For a moment she stood, contemplating his words, and then she sighed.

‘Very well,’ she said, ‘I expect you are right. You promise to take me first thing tomorrow?’

‘Yes.’

She sank back down into her seat and smoothed out her dress. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

‘I am glad I could help.’

It said a lot about her character that she could be gracious in her thanks when she was clearly annoyed at him.

‘Perhaps in the spirit of putting aside your worries until the morning you would like to dance?’

Miss Shepherd looked at the dance floor, uncertainty blooming on her face. He could tell she was remembering their first dance, the waltz in the semi-darkness of the library, whilst music floated up through the open window.

‘Lord Routledge, I am not sure that is a good idea.’

‘It is a dance, nothing more. I will be on my best behaviour.’

Still, she did not look convinced. ‘Why do you wish to dance with me?’

He was about to give some glib response when he saw her expression. This answer mattered.

Suddenly he felt as though his cravat was tightening around his neck, and the air had increased in temperature by a few degrees.

‘Why do you wish to dance with me, my lord?’ she repeated.

He leaned in and lowered his voice, even though there was no one else close by. ‘I know that after tomorrow our paths have to diverge. I understand that it needs to happen, yet I find the idea of never seeing you again painful.’

‘It is your choice never to see me again.’

‘That is not true.’

‘It is. I might have put into words the need for our relationship to be limited, but that was necessary to protect my heart. I cannot be around you much longer without acknowledging the feelings I have.’ She sighed. ‘But I am not the one who is still in mourning and is unable to open his heart or mind to anything other than a convenient, loveless marriage.’

He could not believe they were speaking of these things so openly. They had only known one another a few days, but those few days had been some of the fullest and richest of his life.

‘I am not still in mourning.’

‘Perhaps not for your wife, although I do not wish to minimise the pain you felt at losing her, but I do think you are mourning the loss of your former self.’

‘I am not sure one can mourn losing a part of oneself.’ He tried to keep his voice light, but he felt something heavy pulling deep inside, threatening to drag him into an abyss.

Miss Shepherd looked at him intensely. ‘This conviction you have that you have to sacrifice any possible future happiness, that you are not worthy of wanting things for yourself—it is very noble to want to rescue your sister, and I think it is a wonderful thing to do, but I wonder if, as well as wanting to build a relationship with her, you have found a way that you never have to risk your heart again.’

‘You think I am scared to love?’ The idea was preposterous. He wasn’t scared, but his experience of giving his heart to a woman had ended in pain and heartache for both him and her.

‘I think you were hurt terribly by your first wife. You loved her, and you dared to go against convention and marry her, even though you knew it would mean losing many things in your life. You took that risk, and then you found out everything you had believed was a lie. Then you were forced to live with your mistake and all the terrible consequences for four years, trying to make the best of it. I do not know how I would feel in that situation, but I suspect sometimes you hated your wife and hated your own life.’