A Viscount's Proposal

  OTHER TITLES BY MELANIE DICKERSON

  Regency Spies of London Series

  A Spy’s Devotion

  Medieval Fairy Tale Series

  The Huntress of Thornbeck Forest

  The Beautiful Pretender

  Fairy Tale Romance Series

  The Healer’s Apprentice

  The Fairest Beauty

  The Captive Maiden

  The Merchant’s Daughter

  The Princess Spy

  The Golden Braid

  The Silent Songbird

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2017 Melanie Dickerson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Waterfall Press, Grand Haven, MI

  www.brilliancepublishing.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Waterfall Press are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503938649

  ISBN-10: 1503938646

  Cover design by Mike Heath | Magnus Creative

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  CHAPTER ONE

  May 1813

  Was this the night she would actually die of tedium, triviality, and hypocrisy?

  Leorah Langdon scanned the crowded ballroom and spied an empty chair against the wall next to Felicity Mayson.

  Leorah caught Felicity’s eye and waved her over with a flick of her hand.

  “Thank heaven I’m not the only person unoccupied enough to sit with the dowagers.” Leorah squeezed Felicity’s hand. “I was just about to find an out-of-the-way nook and fall asleep.”

  “Leorah.” Felicity shook her head and almost succeeded in stifling a snort. “You should at least enjoy the music.”

  “There’s an elderly companion by that potted plant over there.” Leorah inclined her head toward the lady with the steel-gray curls whose head was leaning on her own shoulder, her chest rising and falling in the deep rhythms of sleep. The feather fan in her lap kept time with her breathing, blowing back and forth.

  “Poor Mrs. Thwaites.” Felicity couldn’t quite suppress her grin, so she hid it with her hand. “She is supposed to be looking after her granddaughter, who is being pursued by the younger Donwell son.”

  “Let us hope her granddaughter and that younger son aren’t on their way to Gretna Green when she wakes up.”

  They were close enough to the door that they could hear the announcement as each guest arrived. As Leorah and Felicity alternately talked and observed the people around them, Leorah heard the servant announce, “The Viscount Withinghall.”

  She groaned, but she couldn’t help turning to see—and apparently Felicity couldn’t resist either. The tall viscount, with his solemn black clothing and grave expression, looked as if he were attending a funeral instead of a ball.

  “Why does he have to attend balls and be amongst society?” Leorah wondered aloud. “He only frightens people with his cold, severe demeanor.”

  “Sh, Leorah. He’ll hear you.”

  “Well, I certainly wouldn’t want that. He might come and rebuke me.”

  “Leorah, sh!”

  Leorah relented and lowered her voice. “It isn’t as if he came here to dance. Everyone knows he detests dancing, and frivolity is the bane of his existence.”

  “Yes,” Felicity agreed, “but he is a viscount, and therefore he can do as he pleases, even when there aren’t enough dance partners.” They watched Lord Withinghall stride slowly through the crowded ballroom toward the host, Mr. Colthurst. “He is austere, but if he were to change the way he wears his hair, he would be quite handsome.”

  “Oh, Felicity, how can you say so?” Leorah and Felicity were not the only people in the room who were watching the viscount as he stopped to speak with Mr. Colthurst.

  “Don’t you think he’s at least somewhat well looking? He has stunning blue eyes. And even if the style of it is too Spartan, his hair is quite thick and dark.”

  Leorah wouldn’t admit it even if she did think Lord Withinghall had nice features. His demeanor and aloof manners completely ruined the effect. She could still feel the sting of his remarks to her the last time she’d had the misfortune to encounter him, a fortnight prior. His censorious tone still rang in her ears, as he had reprimanded her for running through a maze and nearly colliding with an elder gentleman at a garden party. She had rebuked him in return for his reprimand of her, an unmarried lady unrelated to him. But he ignored her rebuke and made it quite clear that he objected to her lack of conformity and decorum.

  He wasted his disapproval on her, for she cared not a whit.

  “Shall we walk to the refreshments table for some lemonade?” Felicity asked. “I’m parched. We sat in our carriage for an hour before we were able to inch our way to Mr. Colthurst’s door.”

  Leorah nodded, and they made their way through the crowd to the small sitting room where lemonade and other refreshments were being served.

  “He is very tall and has a regal stance,” Felicity went on after sipping her lemonade. “No, Leorah, you cannot say he isn’t handsome. And besides, he is a viscount. That makes up for a lot of shortcomings.”

  They stood near the doorway where it was less crowded, and less heated, than in the ballroom.

  “If you force me to concede, I will say that he has very regular features.”

  “Regular features? Is that all?” Felicity lowered her eyebrows and frowned.

  “Yes, but his nose is too large.”

  “Not overly. His skin tone is very good, neither sallow nor too tanned.”

  “You are right. His skin shows good health.”

  “And his teeth are perfect.”

  “His teeth are good. I shall grant you that.”

  “And his mouth and chin are strong.”

  “True, and I despise a weak chin in a man. A weak mouth is insupportable.”

  “Goodness, Leorah. I am glad no one can hear us.”

  “We are entitled to speak our opinions as we please. The Prince Regent hasn’t passed any moratoriums on speaking one’s mind.”

  Felicity continued with a gleeful smile. “There is one feature that has always stood out in Lord Withinghall’s already remarkable person.”

  Leorah guessed what she was about to say. “His eyebrows.”

  “Yes! They put me in mind of a pirate. His brows are very piratelike.”

  Leorah couldn’t help laughing. “The way they point
straight up in the middle. I imagine the viscount with an enormous hat, a giant feather curled over the crown, and a cutlass in his teeth.”

  “Yes, indeed!” Felicity’s voice was rising as she became more excited. “And with a sword in his hand—”

  “A white ruffled shirt with enormous cuffs—”

  “Black top boots reaching nearly to his thigh—”

  “And a thin black moustache!”

  “Oh yes. Every pirate should have a thin black moustache.”

  “Ahem.” Someone cleared his throat behind Leorah and Felicity, startling them into turning around.

  Standing there was Mr. Colthurst and Lord Withinghall.

  Mr. Colthurst’s cheeks were quite red as he cleared his throat again, a frown tugging down the corners of his mouth. Lord Withinghall’s expression, glowering down upon them, was the very portrait of disapproval. But the image of him as a pirate still invaded Leorah’s mind, a picture of Lord Withinghall as he faced his enemy with sword drawn, a scowl curling his upper lip.

  Felicity drew in a sharp breath and grabbed Leorah’s arm. Leorah faced the two men, holding on to Felicity’s elbow, fearing she might collapse under the weight of Lord Withinghall’s piratical scowl.

  Clearing his throat, Mr. Colthurst said, “Lord Withinghall requests the pleasure of being introduced to Mr. Nicholas Langdon’s sister and her friend. Miss Leorah Langdon and Miss Felicity Mayson, allow me to present the Viscount Withinghall of Grimswood Castle.” Mr. Colthurst turned to Lord Withinghall. “Lord Withinghall, Miss Leorah Langdon and Miss Felicity Mayson.”

  Leorah decided to give him the respectful curtsey his rank deserved, to show him she wasn’t completely without manners. Meanwhile, the pearls in Felicity’s hair trembled as she sank into a deep curtsy.

  “I am honored to formally make your acquaintance, Lord Withinghall,” Leorah said, “though the viscount and I have spoken on two prior occasions, Mr. Colthurst.”

  “I was unaware—” Mr. Colthurst began.

  “I was unaware as well,” Lord Withinghall said in an imperious tone, “that this young lady was the sister of Mr. Nicholas Langdon, whom I respect as a sensible and forthright young man.”

  The way he said “young lady” and “young man,” one would have thought Lord Withinghall was much older. In truth, he was probably very near her brother’s age, her brother being twenty-seven. The way he spoke down to her, as if she were young and foolish and therefore beneath him, was only another way he and the rest of “polite society” played their little hypocritical charade to project the sort of façade they wished.

  And if Lord Withinghall wished to be thought of as a curmudgeonly politician, he was doing a great job of perpetuating that image.

  Lord Withinghall no doubt wished he had not initiated the acquaintance. But he could hardly escape it now. Just to annoy him, Leorah silently vowed to speak to him at every opportunity.

  “If you wish to be acquainted with Nicholas Langdon’s sister, I am the only one you could possibly refer to, my lord.” She smiled and bobbed another tiny curtsey, enjoying the chagrin on his face. “My friend and I are most cognizant of the honor you bestow on us, I am sure.”

  Of course, politeness now dictated that Lord Withinghall make a similar statement about the honor of making her acquaintance, but he stood unmoving and wordless, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

  “Please excuse me,” Mr. Colthurst said, his cheeks still blushing red. “I see more guests arriving.”

  “Of course.”

  Mr. Colthurst took his leave of them, striding away.

  Poor Felicity had turned three shades of red, but Leorah felt emboldened to take the imperious viscount down a bit by being perfectly forthright, the very characteristic he had praised her brother for.

  “I don’t suppose you would have wanted to make my acquaintance if you had known I was the ‘reckless, heedless hoyden’ you lashed out at in the park a month ago, or the ‘affront to polite, demure young ladies’ you reprimanded a fortnight ago.”

  “You took note of my words, I see. I might have hoped you would have reflected on them at length and allowed them to check your unbridled foolishness, but I see by your conversation with this young lady”—he nodded at Felicity—“that that has not been the case.”

  Leorah’s blood rose, sending a flush of heat through her face and into her forehead. “Is insulting a gentleman’s daughter the fashion amongst viscounts, or simply some new political strategy of the one seeking to become the king’s second-youngest Prime Minister and First Lord of the Treasury?”

  The viscount’s jawline hardened, and a nerve twitched in his cheek. While he was silently glaring down at her, she went on.

  “Or perhaps this is some misguided way of getting a dance partner? But no, dancing would not be to your taste. Dancing smacks too much of ‘unbridled foolishness.’ Am I correct?”

  “Miss Langdon, you are the very sort of girl I make every endeavor to avoid, being just the sort of reckless—”

  “As you said before—”

  “Reckless,” he went on, his eyes flashing, making him look more like a pirate than ever, “thoughtless girl who ruins more reputations than her own.”

  It was Leorah’s turn to be shocked into speechlessness. What kind of girl did he take her for? Certainly she flouted society’s sillier rules from time to time, but she would never deliberately ruin anyone’s reputation. Still, she didn’t want him to know he had injured her in any way, so after a moment, she said, “That, sir, was ungallant. But I shall forgive you if you will dance with my modest, seemly friend, Miss Felicity Mayson. She is quite unlike me, I assure you.”

  He cleared his throat. “Allow me to apologize. That was ungallant.” His eyes actually lost their flash, and his jaw went slack. “You will excuse me, Miss Mayson, for not dancing. I am not disposed to dance this evening. Please excuse me.” He bowed first to Felicity and then to Leorah. Then he turned and walked away.

  “Oh dear saints above,” Felicity breathed, suddenly leaning her head on Leorah’s shoulder. “He must have heard what we said about him looking like a pirate. And did I truly say ‘thigh’ in the hearing of Lord Withinghall and Mr. Colthurst?”

  “Undoubtedly,” Leorah said, watching Lord Withinghall’s back as he moved more slowly through the crowd. He had pricked her pride, had characterized her as foolish and reckless, which had been somewhat justified. Then when he’d lashed out at her and accused her of ruining reputations, which had not been justified, she realized that one of three things had taken place: she had upset him far more than she had intended, he was neither gentlemanly nor gallant, or the third possibility, his lashing out at her had more to do with someone or something else than it did with her.

  Whatever the case, she was glad he was gone.

  Perhaps she had gone too far in her goading of the uptight viscount and member of the House of Lords.

  Or perhaps Lord Withinghall’s piratical temper had simply gotten the best of him. She pictured him in his shirtsleeves on board a pirate ship, the wind off the ocean whipping the white fabric against his chest as he urged his pirate crew onward toward pillaging and plundering a captured ship.

  Felicity was still breathing hard, fanning herself, and sipping her lemonade.

  “Don’t worry, Felicity. Perhaps you won’t have to see him again.”

  “I can’t believe you were throwing me off on him, inviting him to dance with me. I would have stumbled and fumbled all through it.”

  “But just think how it would have elevated you in the eyes of all the other men here.” Another hypocritical and unjust way society treated its women. It didn’t matter that Felicity possessed the sweet, considerate, loyal sort of character—though a bit emotional at times—that would make any man a wonderful wife. Men took notice of inconsequential things, such as whether or not a viscount would deign to dance with her.

  “You worry as much about getting me a husband as my mother does.”

  “Oh n
o, I don’t worry, for if you never marry, Julia and I shall adopt you as our sister and force you to live with us and put up with our inane chatter until you die of old age.”

  “Dear Julia.” Felicity sighed. “At least she found a wonderful husband.”

  Yes, Julia and Nicholas were very happy and deserved to be so. They were perfectly suited to each other. Thank goodness neither of them had ended up in a cold, loveless marriage such as so many of the ones Leorah saw around her. Her parents’ marriage, for example.

  The relationship between her mother and father was nothing like what she imagined for herself. Trapped with someone who didn’t understand her, who didn’t feel any affection for her, who could walk by her with barely a mumbled greeting . . . it was her worst fear and sent a shudder through her.

  Marriage to someone who disapproved of her, who tried to force her to conform to his own passionless ideal, was surely a fate worse than death.

  Lord Withinghall was the epitome of that sort of man. How Leorah pitied the woman who should be so unfortunate as to marry such a cross, dour politician. Calling him a pirate was a compliment, and one he didn’t deserve, for it indicated there was some passion beneath that cold façade.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Julia and Leorah sat knitting while Nicholas read the paper.

  “That blanket is turning out quite lovely, Leorah.” Julia smiled and reached over to touch Leorah’s handiwork.

  “It will keep someone warm next winter.” Leorah imagined giving it to one of the children at the Children’s Aid Mission, the charity where her brother and sister-in-law often donated both their time and their money to help the poor children in London’s East Side. Leorah was a practical person, and she liked the idea that something she was making would actually be of use to someone. Practicality of that sort, however, wasn’t normally valued by polite society.

  From his chair in the corner, Nicholas broke his silence by rustling the paper he was reading and drawing it closer. He mumbled, “Oh, that’s bad.”

  “What’s bad, my dear?” Julia asked, looking up from the shawl she was embroidering.

  “It’s Lord Withinghall. Apparently someone is trying to embroil him in a scandal.”