St. Ryne bowed as they left, before turning again to the Earl. “Your library, sir,” he reminded, gesturing before him.
Lord Monweithe frowned a moment; he did not like the idea of Helene going out with Shiperton. No sense building any expectations among the young bucks who squired his youngest daughter. St. Ryne put him in an awkward position. He was curious to know his request and to deny the outing now would be boorish. He saw St. Ryne regarding him with that lazy, sleepy-eyed smile of his. Damn, if he didn’t think St. Ryne had arranged the entire situation, but now he couldn’t say no.
“Certainly, this way,” he said, leading him toward the door. There he paused for a moment to turn back to Freddy Shiperton. “Don’t be gone too long,” he admonished.
“Just a little jaunt, sir, and thank you, sir!” Freddy managed to stumble out.
The Earl of Rasthough only frowned again, and followed his distinguished guest out of the room.
“You don’t approve of our Freddy,” St. Ryne observed as they crossed the hall to the library.
“Don’t approve or disapprove. No sense filling their heads with fancies. I’ve said it before and I say it now, my eldest daughter is to be married first.”
“Precisely.”
Monweithe looked at St. Ryne sideways, not understanding what he meant, then continued, “Daresay people think I’m crazy, but my mind’s made up. Love that little gal, but I guess I say I got my duty.”
St. Ryne nodded as the Earl ushered him into his library.
“You are to be commended, sir.”
“I am? Well, I only do as I feel right,” Lord Monweithe said gruffly, lowering his bulk into the leather chair behind his desk. “But sit down, sit down and tell me what’s on your mind.”
“It’s quite simple,” St. Ryne remarked, crossing his legs and leaning back into the green plush chair before the desk. “I want to marry your daughter,” he explained, watching his host closely.
“What?!?” that gentleman exclaimed, rising from his chair and leaning across the cluttered desk, his face turning dangerously red. “I just told you Elizabeth is to be married first. Don’t think just because you stand to become an Earl that you’re going to be any different from any other gentleman who’scourting Helene, because I tell you now, it ain’t going to be so! Asides which, you’ve never called or spoken to her before today.”
St. Ryne’s face froze and he regarded the Earl of Rasthough coldly.
“Have you so little love or respect for your eldest daughter that you must needs assume any gentleman soliciting your daughter’s hand in marriage means Helene?”
“But, but—what are you saying, man?”
“Frankly I find Helene no different from a dozen other insipid debutantes of the season, such as my mother has tried to put in my way. I have heretofore ignored them all,” he stated, nearly gritting his teeth, his face white under his tan.
Lord Monweithe blinked uncertainly and slowly resumed his seat, while staring bemusedly at St. Ryne.
The Viscount went on: “The only woman I could possibly consider marrying is your daughter Elizabeth. Do not cast aspersions on her character to me!” The strange rage consuming him burned out suddenly, and once again he relaxed in his chair. “She’s had enough,” he muttered to himself. The strength of his own emotions stunned him.
Lord Monweithe caught the last of what he said very faintly, and wondered if he had heard right. He was amazed and knew he must recover himself.
“Now, now, easy lad. No harm meant.” He laughed with false joviality as he warily studied St. Ryne’s shuttered expression. ‘Now, would I say my Elizabeth must marry first if I didn’t care for her? Well now? Sorry I misunderstood you, but you know we were discussing my daughter Helene as we came in the room, and then you took me by surprise, that’s all, my boy.”
St. Ryne neither smiled nor responded, and the broad smile on the Earl’s face faded slightly.
“So you want to marry my Elizabeth, do you? Well, well, I’d be proud to welcome you to the family.”
The twisted smile reappeared on St. Ryne’s face. “Thank you, sir,” he said wryly.
Monweithe leaned back in his chair. “Ha, ha. I saw you dancing with my gal at Lady Amblethorp’s. Love at first sight, was it? Fine gal, fine gal. And handsome, too.” He looked keenly at St. Ryne. “Daresay you’re just the man to handle her, too, from the tales I’ve heard.”
St. Ryne stiffened slightly, but the Earl, reaching out for the bell pull, did not notice. Almost immediately his summons was answered by the appearance of his butler at the door. So prompt was that worthy’s appearance, St. Ryne wondered sardonically if Elizabeth’s reputation was not perhaps due in large measure to servants listening at keyholes. “Jovis, ask Lady Elizabeth to join me in the library.”
“Very good, my lord.”
“Let us have a toast,” Lord Monweithe suggested to St. Ryne, rising from his desk and going to the sideboard, where stood a decanter and several glasses. “Always like to have a little to hand,” he explained, pouring two glasses of a deep tawny port. “Here, lad—a toast to Elizabeth.”
St. Ryne raised his glass in silent salute.
