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Later that afternoon,the knock that Susan had been dreading, ever since she’d read the Count D’Asti’s card, sounded on the townhouse’s front door downstairs. Susan gritted her teeth, chancing a glance over at Eugenia, who was idly sketching beside her.
“Is it too late for us to pretend that I’m ill?”
Eugenia clicked her tongue and shook her head.
“We really cannot just turn him away, Susan. Your Mama or Georgiana will chaperone the visit, so he will not have any opportunities to be inappropriate or to trap you, if that is what you are worried about.”
“I won’t lie and say that it hadn’t crossed my mind, but I think I am worried just as much about finding him to be a likable person as I am about him potentially being awful. I simply do not want to like him.”
Susan made a palms-up gesture as her own past comments and opinions about marriage bubbled up in the back of her mind, ready to haunt her. Once, a marriage of convenience would have been perfectly acceptable to Susan, but now? Now her only thoughts were of Lord Seabury, and all of the obstacles which stood between her and the man she’d fallen in love with at first sight, like an absolute fool.
Susan flinched at the sound of voices downstairs, in the entrance hall. Her mama’s voice, and the butler’s, and the Count D’Asti’s. Eugenia stood and lightly clapped her hands to get the attention of the other girls lounging throughout the room, each amusing herself with some pastime or another.
“Ladies, I believe we should relocate, to give Susan and her Mama some privacy, for Lord D’Asti’s visit.”
All three of the other girls in the room stood at Eugenia’s command, and the four of them hurried out, leaving Susan sitting speechless and alone as she waited for her mother and the Count to enter.
She wanted nothing more than to bolt from the parlour and not look back as her mother and the Count entered, apparently sharing easy conversation and friendly smiles. She narrowed her eyes at the two of them and huffed a short, frustrated breath out through her nose at the knowledge that she’d promised Edward she would be polite to this man who she wanted little, if anything, to do with, all to preserve his sisters’ -- not to mention Eliza’s -- chances of marrying well. She fully expected this exchange to be tedious, at best.
She rose as the Count offered her a small smile and a grandiose bow.
“Good afternoon, Miss Wingfield. It is delightful to see you again.”
Susan curtsied stiffly, silently wishing that Lord Seabury would find some excuse to visit Billington House. Instead, she was stuck with Lord D’Asti.
“Count D’Asti. The roses you sent were beautiful. Thank you.”
“I hoped you would like them. They reminded me of you.”
His eyes twinkled with good humour and charm, both of which Susan steeled herself against as she motioned for him to sit down in the chair which faced her favourite settee. She fervently hoped that her mother would choose to sit down beside her, so that there would not be room for the Count on the settee.
Susan sat and smoothed her skirts, looking anywhere except at Lord D’Asti while he and her mother seated themselves.
“So...” Susan cleared her throat. Be polite. Think of Eliza and Eugenia, and Edward’s other sisters, too. “How are you enjoying London, Lord D’Asti? How does our fair city compare to... where is it you hail from in Italy, My Lord?”
“London is delightful, as always, but I must admit that I much prefer my country estate near the border with Scotland to life in the city.” He tugged at his cravat a little and cleared his throat, his gaze darting back and forth between Susan and her mother. “Do you prefer the city or the country, Miss Wingfield?”
Susan swallowed hard, trying not to wince.
“London is all well and good, but I must admit that I very much miss Gainsbourne, the country home which used to belong to my father, the Viscount Gainsbourne, before he passed away. I loved our life in the country, but of course, my father must have mentioned that in the correspondence between my family and yours regarding our betrothal.”
Susan’s mother, the Viscountess, gasped, barely managing to cover her shocked intake of breath with a cough. Susan didn’t take her eyes off the Count, though. She was watching his every move, and every expression which crossed his face as she spoke.
His charming smile never faltered once, but she thought that — perhaps — his exotic complexion paled somewhat at her words. He swallowed hard, and his gaze flicked to the drawing room door, as if he was momentarily reconsidering the wisdom of his visit.
Susan allowed herself a small, wicked smile at his discomfort and the Count shifted in his chair, leaning back as if to give himself space to breathe and think.
“I would very much like to see those letters, Lord D’Asti.”
Susan batted her eyelashes at him, then, but the movement was purely ironic.
Her mother sat beside her, ramrod-straight, trembling slightly, and Susan was unsure of whether her mother was, in fact, breathing, but she hadn’t behaved badly by societal standards, certainly not badly enough for him to ruin her by speaking of it outside that parlour.
The Viscountess cleared her throat after a moment.
“Susan has always had an interest in travel, Lord D’Asti. What region of Italy did you say your estates are located in?”
The Count’s gaze darted to the clock on the mantel, and he jumped up.
“Good heavens! Look at the time. I did not realise that the day was so far advanced. I’m afraid I must cut my visit short. I almost forgot that I have a meeting with my man of business in just a few minutes, and I shall be late if I do not leave immediately. I will call to see you again soon, Miss Wingfield.”
Susan stood and curtsied at the announcement, relieved that he had to depart so soon, and forced a polite smile.
“Good day, Lord D’Asti.”
The Count D’Asti bowed to Susan and her mother, then, and hurried from the room as if the hounds of hell themselves were chasing him. She stared at his retreating back through narrowed eyes.
He never answered any of my questions… not really.
Georgiana, Eugenia, Matilda, Octavia, and Eliza all hurried back into the drawing room the instant he had departed, their gazes openly curious. While Matilda and Octavia were shy, hanging back a little, Eugenia and Eliza rushed to Susan’s side, not bothering to hide their interest in what had just transpired.
“Well?” Eliza demanded. “What happened? How was your time talking with the Count, sister?”
Susan grimaced.
“It was rather awkward, if I’m being honest, and the Count never answered any of the questions I asked him.”
Her mother let out a hum beside her.
“He didn’t, did he? Strange. However, I suspect he was too flustered to answer, once he realised that he was likely to be late for that meeting with his man of business.”
Susan caught Eugenia’s attention and rolled her eyes at her mother’s willingness to accept what the Count had said at face value.
“Or he purposely avoided answering my questions because he does not wish me to know the truth.”
“You suspect he is hiding something?” Eugenia gasped. “How intriguing.”
