A Diamond in the Rough (v1.1) (11 page)

The thought was rather disturbing.

She must have sensed the stiffening of his arm. Her head turned slightly. “Is something wrong?”

“Not at all,” he lied, drawing them a few steps farther along the graveled path. There was an arrangement of rather unusual plants behind a large urn that had caught his eye. “And what of you, Honoria? You seem a trifle preoccupied of late. Is there something on your mind?” “I—I suppose I am still a bit overwhelmed with the honor you do me in asking me to be your future Countess. I shall try to be worthy of the choice.”

Were her words really as stilted as they sounded to his ears? He drew in a sharp breath, but quickly brushed aside any momentary irritation and compressed his Ups in what he hoped was a semblance of a smile. “Worthy? Why there is nothing to be nervous about. You are the very model of perfection.” Now it was his own phrases that sounded hopelessly contrived. At least she appeared not to notice.

“How kind of you . . . Adrian. I shall try not to give you any cause for further comment. Mama says that gentlemen dislike above all things being distracted by a fidgeting female.”

His brows drew together. “I should hope you would always feel free to discuss with me anything that was bothering you.”

“Yes. Of course.” She bit at her lip and turned to examine the carving along the rim of the garden ornament. “Actually, sir, there is a matter that I should— Eeeeek!” A shriek interrupted her halting words as she suddenly tripped over a figure crouched among the cascading ivy. “Good heavens! There is someone hiding here in the bushes!”

Marquand rushed to steady Honoria’s trembling form. “There is no need for alarm, my dear.” His gaze had already raked over Derrien’s slightly disheveled gown and the bits of broken leaves that had twined themselves in among her golden curls. “It is only one of the other guests.”

Honoria’s hand flew to her alabaster throat on taking a second look at the figure still half hidden in the shadows of the swaying boughs. “It is hard to believe that the local young ladies have no more concept of proper behavior than to be sneaking around in the dark, spying—”

“I was not spying,” retorted Derrien, rising to her feet and brushing a stray lock from her cheek. “As it happens, I was here first.”

A faint gasp sounded. “But what were you doing out here if not skulking after his lordship and myself?” Derrien’s hands came to her hips. “I was having a look at the Ananas bracteatus that Mr. Gregory has just received from the isle of Jamaica.”

Marquand edged slightly closer to the bed of plantings and stole a quick glance. “And a most unusual specimen it is,” he murmured, itching to bend down as Derrien had been doing and subject the multi-colored striated leaves and cluster of spidery stamens to a more thorough examination.

Honoria’s eyes widened in confusion. “What—?” “Ahh, most unusual,” he repeated gruffly. “For a lone female to be outside unaccompanied—”

Derrien interrupted him with an unladylike snort. “What fustian your silly set of Town strictures are. I’m hardly in any danger of running into trouble among people I’ve known all my life—or of being a threat to any sensible person. It is only a martinet such as you who would kick up a dust.” She turned to Honoria, her eyes sending off more sparks than the garden torches flickering in the salty breeze. “And as for spying on you—if I was going to run the risk of being caught out in such an outrageous breech of manners, I would certainly pick a more interesting couple to eavesdrop on! I vow, the two of you appear to have ice water rather than blood running through your veins. I wish you happy with each other, for I can’t imagine any person with a real pulse wishing to cultivate an acquaintance with either one of you.” With a flounce of her unruly curls, she turned on her heel and stalked back toward the stone terrace.

The Viscount’s lips twitched in some, amusement at the whole situation, but he quickly covered such transgression with a brief cough.

Ashen-faced, Honoria drew in a sharp breath, and her hands clenched into tight fists by her side. “Everything about this odd country is quite . . . unexpected,” she whispered.

“Pay the annoying little chit no mind. She’s obviously naught but a sharp-tongued little hoyden, with none of your ladylike polish,” said Marquand, his arm stealing around her rigid waist at the same time that his gaze couldn’t help but follow the defiant tilt of the other young lady’s slim shoulders and the lively swaying of her boyish hips.

He forced his eyes back to Honoria’s pale face, which in the faint wash of light appeared as if it were carved from the same block of marble as the urn behind her. For an instant, he couldn’t help but recall the flashing blue eyes, flushed cheeks, and expressive mouth of the other young lady’s visage, and for some reason felt a tightening in his chest. He gave another cough, then tried to offer some additional soothing words to his intended, but they seemed to stick in his throat.

“Please, sir.” Her eyes pressed closed. “Perhaps it would be best to go back inside, where we will not run the risk of any more . . . surprises.”

He cast one more longing look at the plants, then swallowed hard and offered his arm. “Yes. Of course, my dear.” Yet for a moment he didn’t move. “Er, was there something you were going to tell me before we were interrupted?”

Her gloved hand tightened on his sleeve. “It can wait,” she said softly.

By the time they reentered the large drawing room Honoria had composed herself so that no trace of emotion marred her lovely features. Chin held high, a faint smile upon her finely shaped lips, she caused more than a few conversations to falter in midsentence as she passed by.

“My dear Lord Marquand, you would not really be so heartless as to deprive the rest of us of the company of such a charming beauty as Lady Honoria for the entire evening,” called Sir Twining from where a small group of gentlemen had assembled near the fire.

The Viscount gave an inward wince at the man’s choice of adjectives.

“Especially since you are to enjoy countless more evenings of the lady’s company in the years to come,” he added with a jovial laugh. “We have just now learned that congratulations are in order, sir.” With a broad wink, his pudgy hand came out to take Honoria’s other arm. “So, my lord, I must insist that you relinquish your future bride for a bit to others less fortunate than you. I wish to introduce her to a group of our most learned professors.” He inclined his head a fraction “That is, of course, if you are not averse to mingling with us rough folk, Miss Dunster.”

“Indeed not, sir.” She readily allowed herself to be drawn away from the Viscount’s side. “I should enjoy meeting all of the people who have been so hospitable to us strangers. And I am sure Lord Marquand will not mind being abandoned for a short while.”

The Viscount’s eyes strayed back to the open set of French doors. “No, no, not at all. Do go on, Honoria. In fact, there is something I wish to discuss with Tony before it slips my mind.” After a brief bow, he turned and made his way toward the opening to the terrace with a purposeful stride, careful to avoid any eye contact with those he passed. He paused to take a glass of punch from a passing footman, then, after giving a furtive glance left and right, he slipped out into the cool night air. Putting the glass aside without so much as a taste, he hurried down the graveled path.

It was nearly dark, but by removing the torch from its bracket and holding it carefully to one side, he was able to study the rare plants for some time. It was a shame, he thought with a silent oath, that his snug cutaway evening jacket did not allow for the addition of pencil and sketch paper to his pockets, for he would dearly have loved to make a drawing or two, and a notation on color—

“I guessed you had stepped out here to blow a cloud and thought I’d join you.” Ellington stared down at his friend, who was half hidden in the drooping ivy. “But what the devil are you doing down there? Practicing how to line up your putts?”

Marquand scrambled to his feet, brushing bits of dirt from his immaculate fawn trousers. “Er, looking at a plant. Several, in fact. They are quite rare in Britain, and I don’t often have occasion to look at one closely.”

Ellington lit up two cheroots and handed one to the Viscount. “One might think you would have other things on your mind besides exotic plants, Adrian.” He grinned. “Did you and Miss Dunster enjoy a pleasant stroll out here alone?”

The Viscount growled something unintelligible, then, dragonlike, let out a puff of smoke. It swirled in a lazy circle, then spiraled upward in the gentle breeze to disappear in the darkness. “Have you been introduced to a Miss Edwards?” he inquired abruptly after a moment of silence.

His friend’s brows drew together as he sought to put a face to the name. “Ah, yes. The blond sprite who is niece to the charming widow. She has a pretty enough face. With a snip or two of the scissors and decent modiste she would be quite presentable, don’t you think?”

Marquand grimaced. “Ha! She would need a good trimming of her tongue as well before her presence would be acceptable in Polite Society. The little hellion has the manners of a Highland savage.” At Ellington’s questioning look, he went on to explain his comments. “She was frightfully rude to Honoria earlier this evening.” He exhaled another wispy ring and watched it float away. “And on our first introduction, her whole demeanor was barely civil. I cannot help wonder why she has seen fit to act in such an odd way.”

His friend shrugged. “Who can comprehend the inner working of any young lady’s mind? But I shouldn’t think overly about some rag-mannered country chit barely out of the schoolroom.”

“Don’t worry. I shan’t.” But somehow he could not seem to banish the vision of flashing blue eyes, a pert nose, and an expressive—most expressive—mouth. Just as he could not help comparing that animated face to one displaying a good deal more composure and well-schooled control. He drew in a lungful of smoke. Control? Or, as the little minx suggested, mere lack of feeling? He threw down the cheroot and ground it out beneath the heel of his boot, angry with himself for letting yet another impudent little brat of a Scot get under his skin. “Come on, Tony. We had best return to the party before we offend our host.”

As the two gentlemen made their way back toward the stone terrace and the faint trill of voices, Honoria smiled at yet another of the professors from the University, this one a burly fellow with a bristling red beard who was introduced as one of the leading experts in Reformation theology at St. Mary’s. However, it was impossible to judge whether or not the man was capable of rational thought, for he was unable to utter a single coherent word in her presence, merely stuttering and turning a shade matching his whiskers when she touched her glove to his.

“I hope we are not trying your patience too much,” whispered the Baronet as he shooed the poor fellow away. “There is just one more member of our faculty that I should like to make known to you. And since he has spent several years in the environs of London, I trust he will show enough polish not to find himself tongue-tied in the presence of a lovely lady.”

She touched his arm lightly. “Please do not apologize in the least, sir. Everyone here has gone to great lengths to make us feel welcome and I look forward to thanking as many of them as I can.”

“You are as gracious as you are lovely, Lady Honoria. The Viscount is a lucky man, indeed,” murmured Twining, bringing a faint flush to her cheeks with the effusive compliment.”

He steered them past the ample bulk of two dowagers grousing with each other over the shocking rise in the price of herring to where three men stood in a circle, engaged in an earnest discussion on the merits of Byron’s latest epic. Without waiting for a pause in the conversation, the Baronet tapped the shoulder of the man standing with his back to the rest of the room. “Charles, you have only arrived back from your trip to Glasgow this afternoon, so I don’t believe you have had the pleasure of meeting our charming visitor from the south.”

The man slowly turned around.

“Lady Honoria, may I present Mr. Charles Ferguson. Though he may appear a mere babe in years compared to the rest of us old coots, I assure you that he is one of our most respected scholars here at the University.” So intent was he on composing a proper introduction that he failed to note all of the color had suddenly drained from the young lady’s face and that her hand was clutching at his sleeve as if to keep herself upright.

“Charles,” he continued in the same jovial tone, “I have the pleasure of presenting Miss Honoria Dunster . . .” Ferguson bowed. “Miss Dunster,” he murmured.

“Mr. Ferguson,” she managed to whisper.

Sir Twining smiled. “And, I might add, soon to be Lady Marquand and the future Countess of Chittenden.” It was the young man’s turn to go a deathly pale. Honoria attempted to move, but her knees buckled and she swayed against the Baron’s shoulder. “Good heavens! Are you feeling ill, Miss Dunster?” His arm

came around her waist. Let me see you to the settee. Vinaigrette! Does someone have a bottle of vinaigrette?” “Please,” she murmured. “There is no need to make a fuss. I am merely feeling a bit . . . faint, that is all. If you would be kind enough to help me to that chair by the door, a breath of fresh air is all that I need.”

He helped her sit down and the murmur of excitement that had raced through the assembled guests quickly died away as it became evident that nothing serious was amiss. Her mother hurried over and clapped her hands to her cheeks on taking in her daughter’s wan face. “Honoria!” she exclaimed with some alarm. “Oh dear, what has happened, child?”

“My fault entirely,” said Twining with a baleful grimace. “She was much too polite to tell me the crush of strangers was simply too much to bear.” He turned to Honoria. “Can you ever forgive me for being such a nodcock?”

“You mustn’t worry about it, sir. Really.” Her eyes remained locked on her lap, where her fingers were twined together in a tight knot. “I may have experienced a bout of lightheadedness for a moment, but I ... I am quite fine now, I assure you.”

Her mother straightened. “Where is Hylton? And where is Marquand?”