The Further Observations of Lady Whistledown (Lady W 1) (16 page)

Good God, what was wrong with her? This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? Durham was a solid, respectable, honorable man. He was far from destitute, owning several large holdings, most of which he cultivated. And he was pleasant, courteous, and polite. What more could she ask for?

Unbidden, an image of Royce slipped into her mind, looking at her with that unmistakable glimmer of laughter in his eyes that never failed to make her grin in return. Liza frowned. How often would she get to see him if she married? Heavens, would she see him at all?

Liza suddenly realized that Durham was waiting for her answer. Unable to think of one, she blurted out instead, “I’m looking forward to the play tomorrow.
The Merchant of Venice
is one of my favorites.”

“It was very nice of Lady Shelbourne to make me a member of her party. Normally, I am not one to engage in such frivolous activities, but when in Rome…” He smiled. “Are you much addicted to the theater, Miss Pritchard? I fear Somesby is not a very large town. Until recently, we did not have the opportunity to see many plays, but I hope that one day…” He rambled on, unaware that Liza was no longer listening.

She was far too busy trying to imagine herself living in a small town without the conveniences of London. It would be quite different. She looked about at her comfortable home, at her cherished belongings, at her new shoes, and wondered what she’d do with her time.

“Miss Pritchard, what do you think about cows?”

She blinked. Cows. What did she think about cows. “Well,” she said cautiously. “I like horses.”

“Yes, they are necessary creatures. But cows…” Lord Durham beamed. “I own over a thousand. And they’re the best money can buy.”

Good Lord, the man owned a thousand cows and he was
proud
of it. “Whatever do you do with them?”

“I breed them. Durham cows are renowned for their quality.”

Yes, but what about the Durham bull? She suppressed a giggle. Had she been with Royce, she’d have blurted the thought without worrying about his reaction, for she knew he would have laughed. They shared the same irreverent sense of humor. But she didn’t feel that easy with Lord Durham. Of course, she hadn’t known him that long, either. With time, she was certain she’d be able to share her every thought.

“You will enjoy seeing my farms,” Durham said. “They are without compare. Miss Pritchard…Liza…may I call you that?”

She took a deep breath. The relationship was progressing. Just as it was supposed to. But why did that make her feel so…restless?
Liza, you are just experiencing cold feet, a normal reaction for a young lady about to embark on a flirtation that could possibly lead to more.
She smoothed her skirt and said firmly, “Of course you may call me Liza.”

“And you may call me Dunlop.”

She choked. George must have thought she was choking to death, for he began to screech and jumped up and down at the bottom of his stand.

Durham sprang from his seat. “Mi—Liza! Are you ill?”

“Monkey hair,” she managed to choke out, gesturing for him to sit back down. Good Lord, she didn’t think she’d heard of such a silly name. She thought she’d just continue to call him Durham for her own peace of mind. She frowned at her shrieking monkey. “George, that is quite enough.”

The tiny monkey gave a huge, toothy grin, then swung up on his perch and settled down as if to watch the festivities.

Durham eyed the monkey with some misgiving. “Does he understand everything you say?”

“Most of it. What he doesn’t understand from the words, he can tell from tone of voice. But we weren’t speaking about George. Your cows, do you pet them?”

He laughed, his face relaxing until he no longer looked quite so stern. In fact, when he laughed he looked…nice. She suddenly felt guilty for giggling at his name.

“I don’t pet the cows, but you may if you wish.”

“How lovely. Do you wish to live in the country all year round?”

“Oh no.” His smile bordered on a superior smirk. “I’m a man who enjoys the finer things in life. I plan on coming to Town quite frequently. I daresay I will spend several weeks a year here.”

“Weeks? Wouldn’t you stay for the entire Season?”

“Not with cows to care for. You see, many people think you just have to assign their care to a herder. But I believe that with more attention, you can double, even triple their value. Imagine that, Liza.” He shook his head in wonder.

“That’s…quite impressive.” And she was sure it was. To someone else. Someone more interested in cows than she.

He gave her a rueful smile. “I’m certain you’ve more important things to discuss than my cows. Tell me about Lady Shelbourne’s ball. It should be quite an event.”

She told him about Meg’s plans, skirting the more mundane issues of decoration and refreshments. As soon as she finished, he leaned forward and took her hand in his. Only a half hour hence, Royce had held that same hand. He had, in fact, held
both
of her hands. And though she’d had her gloves on at the time, the casual touch had sent strange tingles up her arms. Lord Durham’s grasp, while pleasant enough, did nothing more than warm her cold fingers. She stared down at his hand.

She wasn’t ready for this. Not now. She needed at least another week before she made her decision. Yes, a week would do nicely. The ache in her knees grew.

“This has been a lovely visit,” she suddenly said, standing. Durham stood as well, looking a bit startled. Liza didn’t blame him. “But I just remembered a very important appointment to—” She wracked her brain, but that organ was no longer functioning. Good God, she was only thirty-one and there was no reason she’d succumb to senility so quickly. “I have an appointment to, ah…” Her gaze fell on the turban, now lying discarded on the arm of the settee, looking like a scrap of green felt. “Milliner’s. Yes, I have an appointment at the milliner’s and I’m already late.”

“I wish I could escort you, but I am to accompany Lord Sefton to White’s. He offered to sponsor me.” Durham wagged a roguish brow. “I fear I’m becoming something of a wastrel. I hope I don’t end up wagering away the family farm.”

He was just so nice. Liza wondered if perhaps she was being hasty. She wasn’t a young girl anymore, and she’d long ago given up her dreams of finding a prince. There were no princes.

Durham took her hand again, only this time he bowed low. “Good day, Liza. I shall return tomorrow to escort you to the theater. At seven?”

She nodded mutely, feeling more wretched by the moment.

“Seven it is.” He gave her fingers a significant squeeze, then left.

As soon as the door closed, George swung from his perch and chattered a fierce warning, all brave and brash now that Durham was out of the room.

“Oh hush!” Liza said. It was all so confusing. Her head and heart were at odds, one demanding one thing, one demanding another. “Damn Lord Durham,” she said loudly.

That made her feel better. A little. But it still wasn’t enough. So she added in loud ringing tones, “And damn Sir Royce Pemberley and his damned clefted chin.” Somehow, those words were infinitely more satisfying, but they still left her feeling very alone. Sighing, she collected Meg’s invitations and went to work, hoping to keep her mind busy with more productive thoughts.

Chapter 3

This Author has a confession to make.

When This Author sees Lady Birlington walking her way, This Author runs (quickly) in the opposite direction.

L
ADY
W
HISTLEDOWN
’
S
S
OCIETY
P
APERS
,
28 J
ANUARY
1814

E
arly the next day, Royce set out in search of Lady Birlington. It took the better part of the day to find the old woman, but he finally managed to track her down. She and her grandnephew, Edmund Valmont, were just entering a lending library. Lady Birlington was dressed in an alarming puce pelisse, which clashed horribly with her ruby gown and hideously purple muff.

Royce hastily hopped down from his carriage and followed them into the library, head down against a smattering of snow. He brushed icy flakes from his coat as he closed the door. “Lady Birlington, may I have a word with you?”

Edmund turned, brightening when he saw Royce. “Sir Royce! I was just speaking to someone about you the other day. Well, not you precisely, but about your horse—the gray you sold at Tattersall’s two years ago. Remember it? It had a mark on its shoulder that looked for all the world like Italy. Strangest thing I ever saw. Do you know if the horse had ever been to Italy? I thought perhaps it was born there or maybe had just traveled through the country and the experience was so vivid that it marked—”

“For the love of heaven!” Lady Birlington said, thumping her cane dangerously near her nephew’s toe. “Stop blathering and help me out of this damp pelisse. I shall die of an inflammation before you reach a point, if you even have one.” As soon as her nephew began to assist her out of her coat, she snapped a sharp glance at Royce. “Well? What do you want? Don’t owe you money, do I?”

Royce lifted his brows. “Not that I’m aware of.”

“Good. I was at the Markhams’ rout last night and I distinctly remember losing a goodly sum, but I can’t for the life of me remember to whom.”

Edmund folded Lady Birlington’s pelisse over his arm and said to Royce in a confidential tone, “Age, you know. My Uncle Tippensworth was like that. Couldn’t remember his own name at times, but he had a devilish way of remembering things one would just as soon he’d forget. He must have told every person he knew about the time I was three and stripped naked right in front of the parson’s wife—ow!”

“I wouldn’t smack your shins,” Lady Birlington said, “if you’d stop talking long enough for someone else to get in a word. I’m not losing my memory because of my age, you ninny. I had too much to drink.” She sent a slightly self-conscious glance at Royce. “Champagne. Tasty stuff, but it muddles me every time.”

“Of course. Lady Birlington, I wanted to ask your opinion of Lord Durham.”

“Durham. Hm. Sounds familiar. Not one of those new Methodist speakers, is he? Went to hear one the other day. If you want my opinion, all that depressing talk about hell will just incite the population to fornicate all the more. I know it made
me
want to fornicate, anyway.”

“Forni—Aunt Maddie!” Edmund blustered.

“Demme, Edmund! It’s for-ni-
cate
. Try to listen, will you? And stop dawdling about and return my books. I don’t have all day, you know.”

Edmund sent Royce a harried look, but he obediently took the books to the nearest desk.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Lady Birlington’s sharp gaze narrowed on Royce, a faint lift to the corner of her thin mouth. “As for you, I can’t imagine you wish to speak to me about a Methodist. Must be some other Durham.”

Royce had the distinct impression he was being teased. “I am speaking about the Lord Durham you recommended as a potential suitor to your goddaughter.”

“Ah,
that
Durham. Why didn’t you say so? I know him quite well. But you’ve got one thing wrong: I didn’t recommend him as a suitor.”

Royce almost grinned. He couldn’t wait to tell Liza how sadly she was mistaken. He opened his mouth to thank Lady Birlington for her time when she added, “But I
did
recommended him as a potential
husband
.”

Husband. The word cut as sharply as the icy air.

The old woman sniffed. “Don’t look at me like that! There’s no need for Liza to dither about like a schoolroom miss. She’s a smart gel and not getting any younger. She has too much sense to throw away her chances because of a bunch of lame courtship nonsense. That’s for dewy-eyed youngsters.”

“Liza may not be in the first bloom of youth, but she is very attractive and incredibly wealthy.”

Lady Birlington’s blue eyes shimmered, as hard as agates. “I know that Liza has the capabilities of attracting a man in her own right, with or without a fortune, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Royce’s ears burned. “I didn’t mean to suggest that you didn’t appreciate her merits,” he said stiffly. “I just wanted to be certain that whatever man she settled on was worthy of her attentions.”

“Lord Durham is levelheaded, respectable, and as boring as they come. Can’t stand him, personally, but I thought he might be the thing for Liza. Between the two of you, you and your sister, Liza never gets to meet any interesting men.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“Don’t play the innocent with me! I’ve seen you chase off any number of men over the years.”

“Only ineligible ones.”

“Ineligible for whom? You’ve been selfish with Liza long enough. It is time you let her live her own life.”

“I am willing to let her live however she wishes, so long as she doesn’t bring harm to herself.”

“Humph! I know you mean well, but perhaps Liza
likes
fortune hunters. She seems to have a penchant for handsome rakehells.”

Rakehells? How could Durham be respectable
and
a rakehell? Royce’s jaw tightened, and he was aware of a slow, thick rumble of frustration weighting his chest. Liza was steadily slipping out of his life; he had no time for boring homilies. “I only want what’s best for Liza.”

Lady Birlington’s gaze softened slightly. “Liza is bound to make mistakes. Plenty of ’em. We all do. But that doesn’t give you the right to take choices away from her.”

“And if she falls for the flattery of a scoundrel?”

“Liza’s too smart for that, and you know it. Leave her be. She’s more than capable of handling Durham. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must find Edmund. The last time I left him alone in the library, he found a section of completely inappropriate books and they shocked him so much he was unable to sleep for a week. Good day.”

Royce clamped his jaw into a forced smile and bowed. As soon as Lady Birlington moved away, he turned on his heel and walked back into the frigid wind. It blew hard, slamming the door closed behind him and seeping into the buttonholes of his coat and down his collar. It was colder than yesterday, but inside Royce simmered, anger bubbling a heated path all the way to the soles of his feet.