Trevor paused, exhaling sharply. “That is a point well taken, my friend. Very well taken.”
Hugh nodded and took another sip of port. Indeed, his motives were suspect. They were as convoluted as the twistiest maze. For now, the problem was how to ensure Trevor’s place as a suitor in Vanessa’s mind and heart. Perhaps a few jealous words on his part, a seemingly unconscious praise of his accomplishments. Yes, it could be done. He would also draw Mr. Wilmot’s fire; he only hoped the gentleman was a poor marksman.
Chapter 7
Richard Mannion stood before the French windows, his hands behind his back, tapping out a restless rhythm when Vanessa peeped in around the open library door.
“Come in, Vanessa, and close the door,” he said softly, his back to her.
She started, for she didn’t know he was aware of her presence. When Jonas informed her she was wanted in the library, a frisson of dread went through her. Her father never asked anyone into the library unless it was for a private upbraiding. She searched her mind for an explanation of the summons, but none came unless by chance he’d found out about the newspapers. She quietly approached the library, hoping to hear something that would give a clue to her father’s mood. Now she was baffled. Usually, if called in for some perceived fault, he would stand rigidly by his desk, his face a study in disappointment and anger. Sometimes, if the error was significant enough, he would pace the room and mumble darkly to himself before turning to address the miscreant. But he never stood staring out the window, and he never, ever, spoke softly.
Quickly she stepped into the room, gently shutting the door behind her. She tipped her head to the side, studying her father. He looked old. Odd, she’d never noticed how he was aging, how worn he’d become. She took a few tentative steps toward him, uncertain what to say or do.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Vanessa?” he sadly asked.
She blinked, her mind racing to understand. “I beg your pardon, sir?”
He turned toward her, dropping his hands to his sides. “Why didn’t you inform me of Russell Wilmot’s impropriety last night?”
“Who told you?” she gasped.
His fists clenched reflexively, and his features shifted into anger for a moment, then relaxed. He laughed shortly and turned to walk over to his desk. “He did.”
“Mr. Wilmot?!” She clutched the back of one of the chairs in front of the desk, for her knees felt strangely weak.
Her father reached out to guide her gently into the chair. She murmured her thanks, her mind struggling with the information.
“Why did he tell you?” she finally managed, looking up at her father’s deeply lined face.
A wry smile tilted up the corners of his lips, and he snorted softly. “Why? Because the man is clever.” He rounded the corner of the desk to sit across from her, his hands resting on the polished surface expanse between them. “He came to my office this morning, said he had offended you last night. He told me how he first took the liberty of putting his hand on your shoulder and then of clasping your hand, ignoring your attempts to pull free. Is that correct?”
“Y-yes.” She felt like a mouse, caught in a corner and uncertain which way to run to avoid the cat.
“Why didn’t you tell me? It’s my duty as a father to protect my daughters.” He surged out of his chair, pacing the room agitatedly. “Damn it, girl, I felt like a caper-witted fool this morning, not knowing what the man was talking about, and that’s not a position to be in when dealing with a man like Wilmot.”
“I’m sorry, Father, but after Mr. Talverton made him stop, I thought it best to forget the incident, and I didn’t wish to worry you unnecessarily.”
“Mr. Talverton? What has he to do with this?”
“You don’t know? Mr. Wilmot didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“Last night, during the play, when Mr. Wilmot so insistently held my hand, Mr. Talverton crashed his foot into the side of my chair.”
“I remember the accident.”
“It wasn’t an accident, Father. He did it as a means to end the situation without embarrassing all of us.”
An arrested expression captured Mr. Mannion’s features. Slowly he sank back into his chair. “So, he did that on purpose.” His eyes shifted and a tight smile curled one corner of his mouth. Vanessa watched, wary of his changing moods.
“Hmm . . . Tell me, Vanessa, what do you think of Mr. Talverton?”
“I’m not sure I understand the question,” she hedged. She leaned forward in her chair, closely watching her father. He was not behaving in character. It was totally unlike him to solicit opinions from any of his daughters.
“Come, come, my dear, you’re too missish. Do you like the man? Do you like his company?”
Vanessa sat straighter in the chair, clasping her hands primly on her lap. “If you are thinking of wedding me to Mr. Talverton, I advise you to think again,” she said austerely, twin flags of red blazing on her cheeks. “Aside from last evening’s fiasco, he and I have been continually at crossed swords. He is entirely too toplofty for my tastes. And regardless of my sentiments, Paulette has staked her claim on him.”
