Page 13 of A Viscount’s Reluctant Passion

Chapter Six

Lord Walter Winterbourne crumpled the paper in his hand. Another demand for payment. He needed money, and the fastest path to that was a woman’s dowry. He had assessed all of the possible candidates, and chosen Miss Wormsley, because her dowry was substantial enough for his needs, her physical form was appealing, she had little enough influence, and was tarnished by scandalous whisperings. That made her the ideal candidate. Ideal in all ways, except her apparent unconcern with her own need to marry. Time was running out, and the damned country chit was proving far harder to charm than he had expected. With gossip the like of which followed her, she was lucky to have suitors, and should be grateful for his attentions. But she seemed unaware of the honour he did her.

If charm had not delivered what he wanted, perhaps more direct tactics were required. He would plan carefully, and create a situation in which she had no choice but marry him.

He penned a note in response to the latest demand, promising payment within the month, sealed it, and sent it off, then settled to plan his compromise of Miss Wormsley – a compromise which would be, ‘accidentally’, witnessed by two of the biggest gossips of the ton.

~~~~~

The matter at Harringdon Park was more complex than Nash had expected. It had taken him a week to discover the beginnings of the truth, which involved the blackmail of one of his staff, and threats to her father’s business in the village – threats and blackmail which seemed to originate from a member of the ton who stood to gain from destroying, or obtaining ownership of, the business, and who also had reason to see Travers as an enemy. The scheme was mad, from Nash’s point of view, but petty-minded greed was never entirely rational.

The man had intended to use the stolen silverware to provide funds, and then, regardless, to expose the maid as a thief, so that her father was discredited too, and his business could be obtained easily as a result. The fact that the silverware was being stolen from one of Travers’ estates was just an additional benefit, from the point of view of the culprit.

Having discovered the plot, Nash had set things in motion to trap the man, when next he came to the area to collect stolen items, and there was little he could do until then. He would, after all, he decided, go back to London for that last Ball. He needed distraction while he waited to catch the blackmailer. It was not, at all, that he wanted desperately to see Miss Wormsley again. Not at all.

For she could never see him as a suitable marriage prospect, with his uncertain hold on the title, and his thoroughly unfashionable attitudes to life. That every night he dreamed of kissing her, and far more, made no difference to the realities of the world.

~~~~~

The day of the Belmonton Ball arrived, and Bea stood obediently still as Ellie dressed her. Where once she had been excited before every Ball, and had fussed endlessly over which gown to wear, she now stared blankly before her. It had been near three weeks since Lord Challoner had left London, and she had not heard anything of him since. There had been no letters, although that was to be expected – for an unmarried man and woman to correspond, when courtship had not been formally initiated, would be most improper.

But the fact that she had heard nothing seemed to utterly confirm all of her worst fears. It was obvious that he did not truly care for her – or he would have said something before departing, would have returned by now. Those kisses which had been so wondrous to her were, it seemed, just a passing lustful fancy to him. She had to face the fact that he would be unlikely to attend the Ball this evening, that, in fact, she might never see him again.

If she was wise, she would simply accept that, and look to another man – most likely Lord Walter Winterbourne. The fact that Lord Walter did not make her heart beat faster did not prevent him from being the sort of man whom most would judge a good match for her.

She had promised him, if indirectly, to tell him if there was hope for his suit, by the occasion of this evening’s Ball. What would she say? What she should say, of course, was yes – yes, he might court her seriously, yes, there was hope for his suit.

She would do so. No matter that her heart ached.

For how often had she seen the truth of the fact that most marriages were not based on love, but on practicality – as her sister’s first marriage had been? That Honour now had a second chance, and had found love was the exception, not the rule. She should be grateful for finding a man as suitable as Lord Walter.

But as she stepped down from the carriage at Belmonton Hall, she was no happier with her decision than she had been as she dressed. She kept the smile on her face, and moved through the receiving line as if in a dream.

Not long after their arrival, Lord Walter appeared by her side – all flattery and charm. Why, oh why, did his presence not cause her body to heat, and her heart to flutter?

He bowed, and took her hand in a rather familiar manner. She allowed it.

“Miss Wormsley. You are beautiful as ever. May I tempt you to dance?”

“Of course, Lord Walter.”

He led her to the dance floor, as Honour smiled after them. Bea knew that Honour thought Lord Walter a good match, and wondered why Bea did not speak of him with much enthusiasm. Bea had been unable to discuss any of it with her sister – she was far too unsure of her own feelings.

The dance began, and Bea waited for him to speak.

As she had expected, he began conversation as soon as they were face to face in the steps.

“Miss Wormsley, I have suffered this last two weeks in tormented uncertainty, but now, this fated evening has arrived – will you tell me of your feelings? Have I succeeded in my hopes, and charmed you sufficiently for you to look kindly upon me?”

Bea’s mouth was suddenly dry, and she struggled to form words. She could not – she could not say it here, amidst the gay whirl of dancers, could not bring forth the words which would condemn her to this man for life. Condemn. It was a heavy word, yet it was how the idea of marriage to him felt. But what else could she do? Lord Challoner had not spoken, and obviously did not truly care, and she could not continue to be a burden to her parents or her sister.

“Lord Walter… I cannot… I do not feel comfortable speaking of this while we dance, whilst we are in so public a situation.”

It was all she could think of to say, to delay the inevitable. He smiled at her – a smile with an odd edge to it – and his eyes glittered. She was not sure if he was pleased by her words, or displeased. A small shiver went through her, and she pushed the fancy away – she was imagining expressions where none existed.

“Then perhaps, Miss Wormsley, we should find a more private place to converse, once the dance is over? There is, I believe, a substantial Library here – a location which would provide both comfortable seating and privacy. Will you meet me there, shortly after the end of the dance?”

Bea blinked, slightly shocked.