And no bloody wonder.
Miss Whitehall’s shoulders trembled. “I so hate to disappoint my father. I am an embarrassment to him.”
“I completely understand,” he murmured. Jordan may not be considered a gentleman by most, but he would never be deliberately unkind. He’d promised to see this through, be polite. Courteous. Besides, Jordan felt sorry for Miss Whitehall. She was also at the mercy of her father’s endless ambition. Constant rejection had to be difficult. He may not like the situation, detested Whitehall with every fiber of his being, but until the wedding, Jordan could be pleasant. At least now he understood Whitehall’s demands to treat his daughter with respect. “I am the soul of discretion.”
Those slate blue eyes gleamed at Jordan, brows drawn together in consternation, before lowering once more, almost as if she were angry at his courteous behavior. Perhaps she hadn’t much experience given…obvious circumstances. Bentley would have been cruel to her.
“Thank you.” But she didn’t sound grateful.
“In time, I’m sure to grow accustomed to the scent of onions.” He had the smell of manure and pig excrement. After a while, he wouldn’t smell her at all. Maybe. “I promise to be considerate of you and the challenges you face.”
Until the wedding. Then his consideration would come from leagues away.
Miss Whitehall’s gaze returned to her lap, fingers twisting once more. Her lips drew into a taut line, as she continued to burp incessantly while Jordan turned his attention to Miss Maplehurst.
“I confess, my lord.” Miss Maplehurst fluttered her hands over a biscuit with pink frosting, ignoring the sounds and smells coming from her niece. “I wasn’t aware of your existence prior to Mr. Whitehall’s announcement. The previous Lord Emerson never made mention of a brother or any siblings. How kind of you to honor your brother’s commitment to my niece and consider a match.”
Miss Whitehall stayed quiet.
“Sadly, we were not close.” Jordan saw no duplicity in Miss Maplehurst’s lined face, but maybe she had no idea what Whitehall had done to secure a marriage for her niece. Surely, she must suspect.
“I do not see a resemblance between you and the previous Lord Emerson, if you don’t mind me saying, my lord,” Miss Maplehurst said, tapping her chin with one finger. “You look nothing alike.” Her smile told Jordan she thought that a point in his favor.
“I do not mind, madam. Bentley was my half-brother. I am the product of my father’s second marriage.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Miss Maplehurst made a small sound of recognition. “How could I have forgotten? I remember Lord and Lady Emerson quite well. Lovely couple.” She regarded him quite intently for a moment, likely remembering the horrible scandal his parents’ marriage had caused. He waited impatiently for a thinly-veiled insult to be lobbed at him, but none came.
Miss Whitehall looked at her aunt in surprise, then back at Jordan briefly before lowering her gaze to her lap. “You made no mention of such, aunt.”
Miss Maplehurst patted her niece’s clasped hands. “Slipped my mind. I never made the connection. You look like your sire,” she finally said, eyes running over his shoulders once more. “Lord Emerson was quite handsome, as I recall.”
Jordan shifted at her flirtatious tone. Miss Maplehurst must have been quite brazen in her youth.
“And Lady Emerson a great beauty. Stunning, as I recall.”
“How kind of you to say.” It was the nicest thinganyonein London had said about his parents since Jordan’s arrival. He liked Miss Maplehurst all the more for it, despite the lascivious glances she shot in his direction. “I would like to suggest a carriage ride, the day after next, if your schedule permits.”
Miss Whitehall’s chin jerked up, staring at him in disbelief. “A carriage ride, whatever for?”
“So that we may know each other better before wedding, don’t you agree? You can point out various points of interest to me,” Jordan replied.
Miss Whitehall wasn’t at all pleased. She twitched rather dramatically. Her far too slender shoulders—
Shouldn’t her arms be plump and fleshy like the rest of her?
—tensed in annoyance. “I don’t know that there is anything of significance to show you. I’ve already told you about the wax exhibit.”
“A carriage ride only then,” Jordan replied smoothly. “As it turns out, I’ve only driven through the park once with my sisters in tow and would like to visit without their chattering.” A blatant lie, but if he had to sit inside this drawing room again with onion being thrust upon him, Jordan might go mad. At least in an open-air carriage, there would be clean air to breathe.
And Miss Whitehall, bloodthirsty little troll that she was, intrigued him against his better judgment.
“With your permission, of course, Miss Maplehurst.”
“We would be honored to join you, my lord.” Miss Maplehurst stood, a signal Jordan’s call had come to an end.
“Wonderful.” Jordan smiled. Miss Whitehall’s digestive issues had increased in frequency. There may have been some…flatulence erupting from her a moment ago. His dismissal had come at an opportune moment. Patchahoo must be consulted about Miss Whitehall’s condition. Perhaps recommend another physician or an entire army of them to examine her.
What will it matter? She can eat as many onions as she wishes once we’re wed and I’m no longer in London.
