One Whisper Away (16 page)

He didn’t actually blame him. The woman the viscount wanted had risked public censure to seek Jonathan out in an attempt to avoid a betrothal, and though Jonathan was still not quite sure of her entire motivation, he was sympathetic to a certain extent to the plight of his fellow male.

Drury had brought roses, the brilliant scarlet hue striking, all twelve perfect blossoms, no doubt from some glassed-in conservatory. Jonathan had ridden out early that morning and picked wildflowers from the banks of the Thames. Tiny pink ones, yellow blossoms with vivid violet centers, white blooms on a dark green vine, and tall stalks of leaves streaked with ivory that reminded him of home. The housekeeper had artfully put them in a crystal vase for him, and though the arrangement could probably be classified as a collection of weeds, he thought it was rather pretty.

If Lady Cecily preferred cultivated to wild, then she should look elsewhere anyway.

“I should not be surprised that you declined to heed my warning, Augustine.” Drury’s voice was cold and hard.

One brow inched upward and Jonathan drawled, “You suppose? You don’t know me. Why should you be able to anticipate what I would do, one way or the other?”

There was a pause while they simply took measure of each other, the tick of the case clock quite loud in the silence.

“I suppose that is a valid point,” Drury said grudgingly, straightening his cuffs, every inch the stiff British gentleman. “Let’s just say I have heard a great deal about your possible interest in the woman I propose to marry, and you must admit your presence here at this moment seems to confirm those rumors.”

Luckily, Jonathan was saved from commenting by the arrival of not just Cecily but also her sister, whom he had never met, both of them entering the room in a soft sweep of skirts, one clad in gold, the other in rose, the two of them indisputably lovely.

Being the son of an earl, even if Americans did not recognize English titles, Jonathan had been invited to more than a few rarefied drawing rooms back in Boston, so he knew what was the standard protocol of stilted polite conversation after the standard greetings were given. He really needed to talk to Cecily alone, and that now seemed quite impossible, which was irritating. However, upon bracing himself to the fact that he’d made this call for no reason—well, not entirely
no
reason, for Cecily was distractingly alluring in her golden gown—he heard Lord Drury ask her sister in his cool voice, “Would you perhaps like to walk in the garden, Lady Eleanor?”

It was hard to guess which of the three of them looked more surprised. Jonathan thought he was fairly adept at keeping on an inscrutable mask when it was necessary, and this certainly was one of those times. Lady Eleanor, who was somewhat of a provocative beauty if you liked lush, curvy women with dark gold hair and a standoffish manner, seemed the most stunned of all by the viscount’s offer. A delicate wash of pink rose into her face, though Jonathan couldn’t tell what reason there might be to blush. Then she said quite plainly, “It isn’t me you wish to walk with.”

“On the contrary. I just asked you.” Drury didn’t look the eager lover, but his voice held a certain hint of steel. “Shall we?”

“Go on, Elle,” Cecily urged. “It’s a lovely day.”

Actually it was a bit overcast, but Jonathan wasn’t about to point that out. He had no idea what his supposed rival’s intentions were, but he wasn’t going to argue with the opportunity being gifted to him. For a moment he thought maybe Cecily’s older sister would refuse, but then she stood and nodded. “Of course.”

When they exited the room, Eleanor’s fingers lightly on the viscount’s sleeve, Cecily gave Jonathan a dazzling smile. “Are those flowers for me?” She went unerringly to the vase he’d brought in. “They’re lovely.”

“How do you know I didn’t bring the roses?” His gaze lingered on the tempting smoothness of her slender neck as she bent to smell the bouquet.

She laughed and straightened, touching one of the delicate petals lightly with a fingertip. “Cultivated roses are not at all in keeping with your personality, my lord. Thank you. I am sure you picked these yourself, and that is more romantic than any flowery words on a card.”

He hadn’t endeavored to be romantic, or not consciously so, but she was right—he thought flowers from a hothouse duly ordered and delivered meant that very little personal effort was expended. “You are most welcome.”

“You were very clever in how you handled Lord Drury.” She turned and gazed at him with an almost poignant gratitude evident in her eyes.

The only clever thing he’d done as far as he could tell was to restrain himself from giving Lord Drury a swift punch in the jaw over his disdain, and that had nothing to do with his intellect but was a testament to his self-control. “How so?”

Her face was graced by a truly fascinating expression. Or at least he found it so. There seemed to be a lot about Lady Cecily he found entrancing. She murmured, “I don’t know what you said to influence him, but my sister and Lord Drury just went off to walk together. I was puzzling over how to accomplish that when I realized you were both here, and you somehow did it for me.”

“I did nothing.” He inhaled a trace of the delicate scent of her perfume and his traitorous body remembered exactly what it was like to hold her in his arms. “He and I simply arrived at the same time, which, I might say, did not please him very much.”

“Yet he still asked Elle to walk with him.”

Jonathan was hardly astute when it came to young ladies, but by necessity he was beginning to learn. His gaze was sharp and searching. “You wish for your sister and Lord Drury to become involved?”

“I absolutely wish exactly that very thing.”

What Jonathan wished was that he wasn’t so distracted by the gorgeous color of her eyes. The amber hue reminded him of the stone he’d found in the river as a boy. Warm despite the caress of the cool water, the golden color unique, the surface smoothed by the current passing over it for centuries. He kept it at all times in his pocket, and it was with an enlightened reaction that he realized the spirits were speaking to him again. It had always been one of his prized possessions, a reminder of his youth, a magical charm that brought him good luck, or so he’d always believed. Now, in this moment, looking deep into Cecily’s eyes, he knew why he’d found it, and even more why he’d been so moved to keep and cherish it.

She was
the
one.

With effort he centered his attention back on the conversation. “Why?”

“Let’s just say I think they would be very well suited.” Her lashes fluttered down a fraction. “And besides, they have much more in common than they know. It would be a good marriage.”

She was young. Certainly younger than either of the subjects of the conversation, and he couldn’t help but ask bluntly, “What makes you think it would be such a stellar match?”

Her gaze flashed up with a touch of defiance. “Because I have considered it at length, my lord.”

The last thing he wanted was to offend her. Jonathan offered, “I wasn’t trying to be argumentative, Cecily.”

“Of course not. You can manage that without trying, Lord Augustine.”

Had he not caught the hint of amusement in her voice, he might have truly taken offense. Instead he was intrigued. She had a habit of doing that to him. “Why do you want the ardent Drury to court your sister?”

S
he had no illusions.

None.

Nevertheless, Eleanor still had a small sense of the surreal as she let Elijah Winters lead her down the garden path—but only literally speaking. He wasn’t interested in her. If she even entertained the idea it made her a fool—and she might be outspoken, she might be less than fashionable, but she wasn’t stupid.

Cecily had looked more stunning than ever this afternoon, her gown a perfect foil for her fair coloring, and both men in the drawing room had looked at her with clear admiration in their eyes.

Quite frankly, while she was happy for her sister, it was all very discouraging.

At least the afternoon was passable, though from the look of the clouds it might rain later, and she did prefer a stroll rather than sitting in a closed drawing room. The gardens behind the house were a bit formal and grand for her tastes, but then again, her father was a duke and grand was expected. This was not a place for children to run free and enjoy themselves, but a journey for ascetic pleasure—that is, if one liked bushes neatly trimmed and flowers in orderly rows and the paths carefully groomed and raked. Since the viscount didn’t seem inclined to speak, she murmured, “I wish they didn’t clip the roses. I know it sounds fanciful, but quite frankly, seeing the blooms wither and then gently lose themselves in a scatter of petals is part of a natural process. Our interference is an example of our need to control everything around us.”

A true bluestocking observation, but so be it. They knew each other well enough that he would not be surprised.

Next to her, more handsome than ever in a dark blue coat and snowy cravat, his blond hair slightly ruffled by the breeze, Lord Drury shot her a quick, unreadable glance. “That is very introspective, Lady Eleanor.”

“Just a stray thought, motivated, I’m afraid, by a personal distaste of how regimented English gardens are. I meant very little by it.”

“Why do you always apologize for or try to conceal your intellect?”

That insightful comment caused her to glance up sharply. “What?”

“Never mind.” His profile austere, he walked next to her, seemingly oblivious to the details of the park. “Please tell me, if you will, what is the status of your sister’s relationship with Augustine? At first I thought he was just a mild flirtation, but now I am beginning to become alarmed. Surely she cannot be seriously considering someone who is . . . is . . .”

“A heathen?” Eleanor supplied ironically, her voice more dry than she intended. “From barbarian stock, not more than half noble, unless one counts noble savages as sound bloodstock. Then again, dark as he may look, let us face it, our fair coloring is no doubt Nordic in origin, based on when the brutal Saxons invaded England and perhaps . . . how shall I delicately put this? Um, enjoyed the bounty of their conquest?”

There. That would do it. What real lady would mention raping and pillaging in polite conversation? No one she could think of. Except her, of course.

As ever, she had an ability to be blunt to an indelicate extent.

But honestly, the past few weeks of studied, stilted conversation had made her want to scream, and since it was clear she wasn’t going to impress Lord Drury anyway, why she should worry about it was a mystery. It wouldn’t ruin a romance, as there
was
no romance. At one time she’d had the impression that perhaps he had considered courting her, but his normally friendly manner had turned distant, though she wasn’t sure just what had happened to cool his interest.

Something she’d said, no doubt.

And now he was intent on Cecily, so she no longer had to guard every word coming out of her mouth.

It was actually a relief. Pretense had always come at a hard cost to her.

But to her surprise, he chuckled. It was low and almost inaudible, but he laughed. “I don’t suppose I’ve ever thought of the Saxon invasion that way, but you do indeed have a point, my lady. I’ll concede it is possible that our ancestry is no more noble than Augustine’s.”

There was nothing he would need to do to make her fall more in love with him. Still, being fair-minded was endearing. “It’s possible,” she agreed with a hidden smile, twirling her parasol. “I’m glad you are not one of those stiff-backed prigs who are insulted the moment a woman has an opinion.”

“Of course not.” He laughed again. “What a rare compliment. Imagine that. I am not a stiff-backed prig. You, as always, have a unique way with words, my lady.”

He was right, of course. What a stupid comment. Quickly she tried to explain, “Don’t sell British so-called gentlemen short, my lord. If a woman opens her mouth and something intelligent comes out, it is my experience that most of them turn and run like schoolboys. What they are so frightened of, I have never been sure.”

The viscount walked beside her, his expression still amused—or maybe
bemused
would be a better way to describe it. “Your frankness never fails to amaze me.”

“I am sure the gossips would agree.”

“I don’t listen—” he started to say.

“Yes, you do,” she interrupted, her tone controlled, the moment poignant to her. “Of course you do. We all listen. If you do not put too fine a point on it, we are almost forced to listen. It isn’t fashionable to disdain gossip nor, to be honest, is it human. But I do say we all are still able to use our functioning brains and decide for ourselves what might be worth hearing and what is just utter nonsense.”

He looked startled, which didn’t surprise her. After a moment, to her relief, he merely nodded. “I suppose that is true.”

“Like whatever you’ve heard about my sister and the Earl of Augustine. There are no assurances any of it is true, so before you retract your offer, I think you should consider that aspect of it.”

“I never said I was going to retract my offer.”

Eleanor refused to be dismayed, partly for the sake of her own pride and also for Cecily, whom she wasn’t sure was better off with the unconventional Earl Savage. Yes, love was
intoxicating
, but the very nature of the word involved impaired judgment. “Oh?”

Her handsome companion did look uncomfortable then, his polished boots scraping along the path as they walked.

Now we are getting to it
.

“I called today to ask the favor of an intimate conversation on the matter. Who would imagine he would arrive at the same time?”

“Who would imagine he would arrive at all? He isn’t in the habit of calling on young ladies.”