The Louise Allen Collection: The Viscount's Betrothal / The Society Catch. Louise Allen
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Freshford, baronet, was the best-looking man Decima had ever met. Although his height was below the average, his features were classically perfect, his colouring blonde, his eyes a periwinkle blue and his figure elegant. His looks in themselves were enough to draw many female admirers, but his breeding and wealth attracted the young ladies’ mamas even more.
The short man who had to fight off lures and the tall woman who no one would consider marrying had formed an unlikely, but deep, friendship. For Decima he was the brother she would have chosen; for him, she seemed to be the perfect feminine confidante.
‘Why are you staring?’ she demanded, sinking down onto one of the new sofas that had been bought for the glasshouse. ‘I thought you would be interested in what Augusta has been doing.’
‘I’m much more interested in what you’ve been doing, Dessy.’ He sat opposite her and crossed his legs, leaning back to study her face.
‘What do you mean? And, please, do not call me Dessy. I’ve just realised how much I hate it.’
‘Of course, Decima.’ Normally he would have been distracted enough by this to demand to know all about her sudden decision. Not today. ‘Now, stop changing the subject and tell me who he is.’
‘Who?’ It came out as a startled squeak and she knew she had blushed. ‘What can you mean, Henry?’
Now Henry seemed embarrassed. ‘I’m not sure how to put this delicately. I mean you have a sort of…glow about you. A new sort of awareness of yourself. As you know—’ colour touched his cheekbones too ‘—I regard you with absolutely brotherly feelings, but even I am aware of a certain…frisson about you.’ He coughed and tugged at his cuffs. ‘I assumed there was a man who had, um, stirred up some inner, er, emotions.’ He ground to a halt.
‘It shows?’ Decima was horrified. ‘I mean, I have not the slightest idea what you are talking about. Anyone would think I had taken a lover.’
‘And you have not?’ Henry seemed to have recovered from his embarrassment.
‘No!’ Decima looked at his sceptical, trustworthy face and gave up. ‘No, I haven’t, but I nearly did. If you promise not to tell anyone, it would be so good to confide.’
When she had poured out the tale of everything that had happened since that last breakfast with Charlton and Hermione—shorn of a considerable amount of completely unmentionable detail—Henry was positively rubbing his hands together with delight.
‘You see? I have been telling you that there is absolutely nothing wrong with your appearance as far as anyone but your idiotic relatives and a handful of equally idiotic snobs are concerned. And this man proves it.’
‘But nobody else has ever seemed to find me remotely attractive,’ Decima wailed, wanting to be convinced and fearing it was only Henry’s partisanship speaking.
‘I expect this time you had too much else to think about to be working yourself up into being an unattractive spinster,’ he retorted brutally. ‘He saw you as you really are, not round-shouldered and self-effacing and with all your charm and character hidden.’
‘He is very tall. He doesn’t realise what a gawky beanpole I am.’
‘Society is full of men at least as tall as you, and taller. That won’t wash.’
‘And he is very odd—he likes my freckles. And he doesn’t seem to think my mouth is too big. In fact, he said I should not pout because he wanted to—’ She stopped, blushing furiously.
‘What?’ Henry enquired, interested. ‘Bite it?’
‘Yes! Now you cannot tell me that’s normal.’
‘It’s perfectly normal. This is an extremely improper conversation, Dess…Decima, but as we’ve gone so far, it is a entirely predictable thing for him to want to do. And liking your freckles does not make him odd. I like your freckles. He sounds a completely typical man with his due measure of healthy masculine desires, to me.’
‘Goodness.’ How did that make her feel? Decima tried to sort out her emotions. Adam wasn’t some oddity who found her attractive for weird reasons of his own or because he was stranded with her and anything was better than nothing. He had kissed her because, according to Henry—who was the most reassuringly down-to-earth male of her acquaintance—any normal man would want to. Her friend was speaking again. ‘I beg your pardon. I missed what you said.’
‘I asked you what is going to happen next.’
‘Why, nothing. Obviously I do not think it would be a good idea to see him again.’ Henry didn’t have to say anything, one raised eyebrow was enough. ‘I told you, he was perfectly horrible about me when he was talking to his friends. He admits he ran away rather than meet me.’
‘But he hadn’t met you then, before he ran, so in what way was he being horrible?’ Henry enquired. ‘You were just as horrible—you ran away rather than meet him and I’ll wager that if you had got here without misadventure you would have indignantly told me all about how your family tried to match you up with some ghastly man you would be sure to take an instant dislike to.’
‘That is not fair!’ Decima stopped, thought, regarded Henry’s face. ‘Oh dear, it is fair, isn’t it? I would never have thought of it like that.’
‘Are you in love with him?’
‘I don’t know.’ Decima stared at him, a frown wrinkling her brow. Something inside her became hollow. ‘How do I tell?’
‘Damned if I know either,’ Henry retorted cheerfully. ‘It hasn’t happened to me, more’s the pity. I imagine when it does, you just think “I’m in love”. Or you go off your food, or dream about the other person all day. Anyways, what are you going to do about him?’
‘I wasn’t going to do anything,’ Decima admitted. ‘I can hardly go chasing after him, now can I? Even if I wanted to,’ she added doubtfully. ‘But the complicating factor is that Pru seems to have fallen for his groom—in fact, quite literally fallen, and I may find myself having to do something about that before very long.’
‘Hmm.’ Henry did not seem to have anything much to contribute to that problem. ‘You need something to take your mind off this, Des…sorry, Decima. Mama’s going to open up the London house for the Season to fire off Caroline into society. I will be going up as well—why don’t you come too and stay with us? Mama would appreciate your company. We are going up at the end of February to get all Caro’s gowns and fallals sorted out early. What do you say?’
It was very tempting. She had already thought about going up for the Season, if only to horrify Charlton, who would be scandalised at the thought of her under any chaperonage other than that provided by one of their aunts or cousins. Decima gave herself a little shake. If she was going to do things only in reaction to her half-brother, then she was just as much in his thrall as she had ever been. She must do what she wanted, for herself. And she wanted to go to London, and find out if what Henry said was true. Could it be that if she was not shy and did not think about being odd, then other people wouldn’t think it either?
And then there was a very good chance that Adam would be in town for the Season as well. Not that she wanted to see him for herself, of course, but if Pru needed help with her improbable romance, then she had to do her best to assist her.
‘Yes, Henry, thank you very much. I would love to come to London and stay with your mama.’
‘What the hell do you mean, you can’t find them?’ Adam Grantham glowered at his agent who stood the other side of the broad desk, a sheaf of papers clutched in his hands. ‘How hard can it be to trace one English gentleman and his family? You have been looking for three weeks, damn it.’
The man went red, but kept his composure. Adam reined in his temper. He had never found Franklin negligent in his duties and had no reason to suspect he was not applying himself now. ‘Sit down, man, show me what you have done so far.’
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