Page 30 of The Viscount's Promise
“Why?”
She blinked several times. “Why should I have? It would have ruined his wedding trip.” At the renewed guilt on his face, disbelief filled her. “Never tell me you told him.”
“No,” he was quick to answer. Then a lowering of the eyes. “I had planned on it but did not.”
Relief washed over her. She would not have Caleb and Imogen’s first days married sullied by this. Yes, Caleb had been the one to ask Lord Morley to shadow her. And yes, she was furious with him as well. He should not have meddled, or, barring that, at least had the decency to ask her wishes in the matter. But she also knew he had done what he had out of worry and love for her, even if it was a high-handed way of taking care of things. No, the bulk of her ire was centered on Lord Morley. He didn’t have to take it as far as he had, did not have to pretend to an affection he did not feel.
Did not have to make her care for him.
She truly had believed he liked her for who she was, regardless of her faults. But then to overhear him disparaging her scar, when he had begun to make her feel that perhaps it was inconsequential? That stung more than anything, was salt in a wound. Rubbed in with a bit of lemon juice, perhaps.
“So you do not blame him for what happened?” Lord Morley seemed genuinely hopeful.
“No, I very much blame him. I, however, realize he did what he did out of love for me, whereas your intentions are questionable at best.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgement. At least he had the good sense not to defend himself from such accusations.
She made to rise again.
“He asked me to stay, you know.”
From behind her, Emily thought she heard the footman groan in frustration. But he headed back to the sideboard, and she, for the third time, lowered herself back into her chair.
“I wanted you to know that. I would have left, to lessen your pain in the matter. But he wanted me to stay. He secured my promise in the matter.”
So he was still to look after her, was he? She narrowed her eyes, indignation creeping along her skin, a slow burning fire. “If you think I will allow you to follow me about again, you are much mistaken, sir.”
“I cannot break my promise to him.”
She gaped at him. “You would go against my wishes in the matter? It is my life, after all.”
He had the audacity to shrug. “I cannot break my promise,” he repeated.
Fury boiled up in her. “I have had quite enough from you, my lord, and I do not give a fig about your promise. Know this, I will not permit you to play nursemaid to me any longer. I expect you to stay far away from me. Is that understood?”
He looked surprised. As well he should. She felt power course through her. Never had she been able to work up the courage to stick up for herself in such a manner. It was freeing.
...And a bit frightening, if truth be told. It was as if she were a phoenix, had burned down to ash, down to nothing with the revelations of the previous day. Now here she was, reborn from that ash, a new person, but in the same skin. The overwhelming need to be alone in that moment filled her. She needed time to process this, to come to terms with it. Pushing back from the table, not giving the poor beleaguered footman time to help, she dipped her head to Lord Morley in a cold manner and swept from the room, her heart pounding all the while like a drum in her chest. What else was she capable of, she wondered. Mayhap it was time to find out.
• • •
The partygoers were decidedly lacking in any kind of celebratory spirit throughout the remainder of the day, no doubt due to over-imbibing the day before. Emily was glad for it. Her mood was too volatile at the moment to put any effort into gallivanting about the countryside after her sister.
That did not mean that she was in any way comfortable. Lord Morley, despite his apologies that morning and her very vocal orders for him to stay away from her, had decided to forego the pleasures of the older gentlemen and had remained behind with the women, to relax in quiet pursuits in the drawing room and basically waste the day away. Thankfully Sir Tristan, too, had decided to laze the day away with the ladies, and Lord Morley stayed close to his side. That did not mean, though, that she was any less aware of him.
But she would not allow his presence to detract her from today’s purpose of beginning the search for a husband for her sister. She watched Daphne closely. Thus far she had not shown any marked attention to any of the young men present. And there were a fair few, thank goodness, no doubt thinking that being in the vicinity of the young, unattached ladies was a sight better than sitting around with the older men, playing cards and drinking. Emily could only be thankful for it. It gave her much to study as the afternoon wore on.
There were, she realized, a goodly amount of baronets and barons, or heirs to such, in the room. Mr. Ignatius Knowles, heir to her cousin Sir Frederick Knowles, she could easily rule out. That moment he was showing marked attention to Miss Catherine Forster. Yesterday he had been seen giving Miss Mariah Duncan the same interest. And during the trip into Ketterby she was sure she had seen him flirting with Miss Rebecca Sanders, the vicar’s eldest daughter. No, he would never do.
Mr. Edward Forster, heir to Lord Tabble and related to Imogen on her father’s side, was handsome and well off. But he was also dumb as a post. She had overheard him saying to her brother Drew that he thought a pelisse was a kind of edible confection. And so she could safely exclude him. While he might make a sweet enough husband, even Emily, as desperate as she was, did not wish stupid children on Daphne.
Mr. Daniel Gubler, heir to Sir William Gubler on Imogen’s mother’s side, was too young. Not much past twenty, the man spent most of his time trying to impress his older counterparts. He also had an unhealthy obsession with his wardrobe. This morning he had his collar so high and starched he could not turn his head.
Lastly (for she certainly did not count Lord Morley in with the group of hopefuls, no matter his elevated status as a viscount) was Sir Tristan Crosby. She studied him for a moment over her embroidery. Thus far she had not been able to determine anything horrible enough to discount him from the running. Despite that devastating conversation she had heard between him and Lord Morley the day before, she knew him to be a jolly fellow, yet mature enough to not be an embarrassment to himself. He showed marked interest in Daphne, that was certain. From the moment he had arrived, she had seen his eyes wander to her sister much more than was proper. He had danced with her several times the other evening, as well as during the wedding festivities the night before. And hadn’t he stayed close to Daphne when she had moved to the pianoforte, turning pages for her? Today he seemed stuck to her side like a barnacle on the hull of a ship. So it seemed the attraction was there, on his part at least.
Though the question remained, how did Daphne feel about him?
This was much harder to figure. Her sister had an open, friendly personality. So much so that it could prove difficult in determining where a deeper affection might lie. But Emily was confident that, with close observation, some small tell would become apparent.
