Page 7 of Vanquishing the Viscount

“And be a laughing stock? Everyone will know by then that Belinda chose Cornwallis over me. I should postpone.”

Emma felt for the unknown man. It must have been horrid, being thrown over like that. She leaned out of the window, to see if she could catch sight of the speaker. His voice sounded vaguely familiar.

Bother. There was a thick rhododendron in the way. But perhaps they would start walking again soon and reveal themselves. She’d wait and see.

“Don’t postpone,” Charles urged his friend. “There’s absolutely no need to feel humiliated. The fact that the girl has elected to marry a nabob from a family of merchants, in preference to one of the oldest titles in the country, won’t reflect well on her. Just hold your head high and summon up that aristocratic arrogance you lot are so good at. It’ll be fine.”

“I’ll give it some thought. Well, I’d best be off to try to settle things with Mama. She wants the ball to go ahead, too, and is as eager as ever for me to marry. Apparently, I’ve been unfit for company since Waterloo and need a wife and family to cheer me up and stop my obsession with my veterans.”

Emma’s heart sped from a canter to a gallop. Surely, she had heard this man’s voice before, but where? Clinging tight to the stonework of the windowsill, she leaned out as far as she dared.

“She’s right,” said Charles. “You’ve been an absolute misery these last few years. You think of nothing but your boxing and your home for old soldiers. What about real life? What about light-skirts, handsome servant girls, gambling, and fun?”

The men were moving away from the shrubbery. She could see Charles’s companion now—a tall man, with wavy, light brown hair beneath his beaver hat. But it wasn’t until he tipped his head back, saying with a laugh, “I think I’ll leave all that to you, old friend,” that she recognized him.

Her heart skidded to a halt.

Lord have mercy!

It was the ungrateful, rude, and disturbingly handsome gentleman who’d been thrown from his horse.

Chapter Five

James promised himself he wouldn’t stay long at this evening’s little soirée. He had far too much to think about, to organize, if his charity ball was to go ahead.

But Charles’s taunt from the week before about his fit of the blue devils had struck home. His heart was broken, yes, but life must go on. And he wasn’t going to attract subscribers to his charitable cause if he didn’t socialize. So, tonight, at the Keane’s small gathering, he would put on a brave face and pretend to be enjoying himself.

He started his campaign by complimenting Charles’s sister, Philippa. “Miss Keane, you are in great good looks tonight.”

“Don’t try to flatter me, Tidworth. You’re far too high in the instep to be interested in poor, plain little me,” she replied with a provocative toss of her head.

Of course, he knew she meant not a word of it. Philippa Keane had the power to turn heads wherever she went—masculine ones, at least. Her light blond hair framed charming features, which included a pair of laughing blue eyes and a rosebud mouth. Her expression was never still, and due to the unevenness of her teeth, she always smiled with closed lips, giving an impression of mystique.

“Come sit with me,” she commanded when he made no reply. “I never get to see you anymore. Charles tells me you’ve been suffering from melancholy. I do hope you haven’t been jilted by a lady. But if you have, she wasn’t worthy of you and must have been addled in her wits.”

“You flatter me with your attentions,” James said, forcing a smile as she took him aside. “But if you think I’m going to apprise you of the details so you can gossip about me, I must disappoint you.”

The dainty mouth turned down at the corners, then lifted once again. “Well, if you won’t talk to me, you can at least dance with me.”

“But, surely, you don’t want to dance with a miserable partner. Unless…you wish to be seen with me to make a potential beau jealous?”

“Such cynicism! But here’s Charles. We can all have a coze together.”

As he was towed into a quiet corner of the drawing room, James appreciated how pleasant it was to be in a small house for a change. Sometimes the vastness of Birney House, and his own estates at Langley and Westwater, overwhelmed him. There was never any privacy, either from the servants or the curious gazes of the public who wandered about his house and grounds. Even when these were absent, he felt the dead eyes from the ancestral family portraits peering down upon him, and felt the weight of duty to marry, reproduce, and keep the name of Markham alive.

Figheldene was a much better size—and its great age added to its interest. In fact, somewhere similar might be good for his veterans’ home, a place which was comfortable in scale, not massive and grand—which could be intimidating to simple soldiers. Although, some of the walls of such a modest structure would have to be knocked through to create large enough spaces for a communal dining room and a hospital wing.

Philippa’s voice broke in upon his reverie. “You’re absolutely right, Charles,” she said.

“I told you Tidworth has become a complete stick-in-the-mud.”

She jutted her chin at James. “Well, if you won’t dance with me, I shall remind Mr. Fulton he requested a waltz, and make you jealous.”

“I, too, am promised,” Charles stated, patting James on the arm. “Pray don’t sit here looking gloomy, but go into the hall and wander around making polite small talk with the guests. I know they’re thrilled to have such an illustrious personage as Viscount Tidworth in their midst and are dying to exchange a few words with you. You could drum up some support for all those worthy causes of yours.”

“How good of you to remind me,” James responded with a lopsided smile.

Charles winked at him and strode away.