The only woman he longed for was most wrong of all, but he could hardly say that to her aunt. Or to anyone. Secrets were so named and so kept for a reason.
“Have you considered my niece, Lord Wilton?” Lady Louise asked, her expression turning sly. “Do not think I have failed to notice the time you have spent conversing.”
His mind instantly flitted to the last bit ofconversinghe had done with Lady Charity. More kisses than words had been exchanged. His ears went hot and he hoped Lady Louise could not detect his guilt on his countenance.
“Lady Charity is…” He paused, struggling to describe the maddening woman.
Desirable.
Tempting.
Scandalous and boisterous and opinionated.
Not the sort of lady I want as my wife.
“She has a wild streak,” Lady Louise finished for him, offering a look of understanding. “I fear she inherited it from me. I was quite the hoyden when I was Lady Charity’s age.”
It was difficult to believe the august, impeccably groomed woman before him had ever been a hoyden. “I was going to say she is lovely,” he lied smoothly.
Lady Louise laughed. “Oh, Lord Wilton, you need not attempt to fool me with politeness. I perfectly understand that Lady Charity can be daunting in her way, especially for a quiet gentleman such as yourself. But sometimes our opposites make for the best spouses.”
He wondered how she knew, given that she had never married herself, but was too polite to ask. “Of course, my lady.”
“There was a gentleman I intended to marry when I was a young woman,” Charity’s aunt said, as if reading Neville’s mind. “We were opposites in every way, but we were desperately in love. It seemed so very wrong, and yet, for us, it was right.”
Right.
Yes, that made sense. It was part of the emotion he struggled with whenever he kissed Charity. The rightness of it stole his breath each time, made his heart pound hard and fast. But his mind knew it was wrong.
What if it is not wrong?
For the first time, he permitted himself the luxury of wondering. Of questioning.
“What happened?” he asked Lady Louise, then realized he was prying. “Forgive me. It is hardly my business.”
Lady Louise’s countenance turned sad. “He died before we could marry. But he left me with something very important, and I shall always be grateful for that.”
He did not press her for further information. To do so would be terribly rude after her revelations.
“I am sorry, Lady Louise.”
“Do not be.” She smiled again, but her eyes glistened with an undeniable sheen of tears. “Everything works out in life as it should. Do think on my words, Lord Wilton. If you will excuse me, I shall carry on with my walk.”
Neville watched Lady Louise Manners glide past him, disappearing into the maze. Her words and her story haunted him with each step he took.
* * *
It was raining.
Yet again.
Charity glared at the window and the murky landscape beyond, trying to ignore the man seated at her side and the audience awaiting their performance. The morning had begun with promise, the sun high overhead. But following breakfast, dark clouds had rolled in. The afternoon’s entertainments, which had all been out of doors, had been canceled. No archery. No tennis. No croquet. No walks to the river. Certainly no bicycles.
And oh how Charity had longed to ride one of the bicycles she had seen in the Fangfoss Manor stables.
But no. Instead, Miss Julia—Lady Fangfoss, Charity corrected herself—had chosen musical entertainment. And the first pairing she had settled upon had been, much to Charity’s dismay, herself and Viscount Wilton.
Wilton played the piano beautifully. Of course he would. The opening strains ofI Dreamt I Dwelt in Marble Hallsfilled the silence of the room. She tried not to admire the way his long fingers played over the keys. Or to admire the breadth of his shoulders. Or the sight of his golden head bowed as he consulted the musical sheet before him. Certainly not his profile, the strong slash of his chin, the blade of his nose.
