The Louise Allen Collection: The Viscount's Betrothal / The Society Catch. Louise Allen
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that any well-brought-up lady should have had the vapours at the sight of fisticuffs did nothing to diminish the thrill that the memory evoked.
‘Are you going to go back with Charlton?’
‘No.’ Decima shook her head. ‘No, I will call tomorrow and apologise when we are all calmer. But I’m not going to allow my life to be dictated by my family, however much I have to admit Charlton has justification this time.’
Charlton’s final departure was fraught enough to send Decima back to her room shaking with emotion. Pru regarded her anxiously. ‘I’m sorry if I caused that, Miss Decima, but I thought you’d want to see his lordship.’
‘You meant well, Pru, but I am afraid you must go and apologise to Mr Starling. He was very put out, and I cannot stay here if we are going to upset Lady Freshford’s upper servants.’
‘Yes, Miss Decima.’ Pru hesitated. ‘About his lordship…are you…I mean, is he…? Will it be all right, Miss Decima? He isn’t really going to marry Miss Channing, is he?’
‘Of course he is, Pru!’ Decima swung round from her seat at the dressing table where she had been attempting to redress her hair. ‘Whatever makes you think he might not?’
‘Jethro says he doesn’t love her.’ Pru was scuffing her toe in the carpet.
‘That is not a consideration when the aristocracy marry,’ Decima said repressively, trying to believe it. ‘Making a suitable match is what matters.’
‘Oh. When will you be seeing him again?’ Pru seemed to pull herself together, took the hairbrush from Decima and started to tease out her curls.
‘When?’ Decima was conscious of a strange, sinking feeling. Dreadful as the last few hours had been, underlying them had been the guilty delight of being with Adam, the revelation that he would defend her honour, physically if need be—even the reprehensible pleasure of knowing that she could stir strong emotions in him. ‘I think that it would not be wise to see him again, unless I cannot help but encounter him socially.’ As she thought it through, the illicit excitement ebbed away, leaving her feeling more than a little uneasy.
Charlton was head of the household, her brother, and, however infuriating he was, she had to believe that he had her best interests at heart. He had castigated her for behaviour that, looking back at it, was indeed fast. She had swung from being a shy mouse to behaving with unbecoming freedom which ill-befitted a single lady. Probably she had given Adam a disgust of her. Dismally, Decima blinked back a tear.
Adam strode into the mews yard to find Bates perched on a mounting block, mending a length of driving trace. ‘Saddle Fox.’
‘He’s at exercise, my lord.’ Bates sawed off the end of the waxed thread he was using, folded his clasp knife and shoved it back into his pocket. ‘I told the lad to ride out with Ajax and take Fox on the leading rein, seeing as you said you wouldn’t be riding today.’ He shook out the leather and eyed it critically, apparently paying not the slightest attention to the thunderous expression on his master’s face.
‘How long since?’ Adam ground out. He’d wanted to ride Fox—fight him—as the only way he could think of to expend the aggression that was burning through him. You did not shout at servants, you did not aim a kick at the cat, and you certainly did not go anywhere near your meek fiancée, not when what you wanted was to land another blow on the nose of a pompous, bacon-faced addle plot, and as for his sister—
‘The lad left not ten minutes ago, my lord,’ Bates said placidly. ‘I told him to give them a good workout, so he’ll be at least another hour, I’d say.’ He put aside the trace and picked up another strip of leather and a punch. ‘Is Miss Ross well, my lord?’
‘Miss Ross is perfectly well, thank you, Bates.’ Adam managed not to grind it out through clenched teeth. He tugged off his gloves, filled with an uncharacteristic indecision about what to do next—other than to go back to Decima and tell her he loved her. She would probably box his ears, and he wasn’t sure he would blame her if she did. It was beginning to sink in that if he couldn’t make his peace with her, then his entire strategy for ending his sham of an engagement was in pieces.
‘What?’ Bates had been asking something. He swung round to face the groom.
‘Been in a bit of a mill, have you, my lord?’ Bates nodded towards Adam’s right hand. He looked at it, surprised to find that the knuckles were raw and grazed. ‘You’ll need to put a bit of something on that afore long, stop it scarring. How’s the other fellow?’
‘The other fellow happens to be Miss Ross’s brother.’ Adam felt the anger drain out of him, leaving him tired and depressed. Of course she didn’t love him. Why should she? He had flirted with her, damn near seduced her, gone off and become entangled with another woman and now he was brawling with her brother.
‘Tsk.’ Bates clicked his tongue in disapproval. ‘Not a very good move, my lord.’ He shifted along the mounting block to give Adam room to sit down. ‘Ladies like being rescued from villains, goes without saying, but decking their own family, now that’s quite another kettle of fish.’ He drove a bradawl through the leather, squinted at the resulting hole and threaded his needle. ‘What did she say?’
‘She threw me out.’
‘Ah.’ Bates knotted the twine. ‘What are you going to do now, my lord? I’d be all a mort if I was you.’
‘That just about sums it up.’ Adam took off his hat and sat turning it round in his hands.
‘Don’t reckon she’ll have you now, not unless you can mend a few bridges.’
‘Quite.’ Adam blinked and focused on what Bates was saying. He should have known that the groom could read him like a book, but he could hardly admit the truth of what he was implying. Not yet. ‘I am engaged to marry Miss Channing. Not Miss Ross.’
‘Well, you are now,’ Bates observed cynically. ‘Best see what you can do about getting back on terms, my lord.’
Adam gathered the shreds of his dignity and stood up. ‘And how is your courtship faring, Bates?’
‘She’s a proper handful is Pru, and a right unaccountable piece,’ Bates observed. ‘But I’m not complaining—I’m only trying to court one woman at a time.’
Clear early spring sunshine cheered Decima as she returned, chastened and emotionally bruised, from a morning visit to her brother and sister-in-law the next day. But at least that unpleasant duty had been performed, and, due apparently to Hermione’s pleading, she was not going to be cast off and disowned. Provided, that is, she avoided Lord Weston’s contaminating presence like the plague.
She confided something of this to Pru as the carriage rattled back to the Freshfords’ house. ‘So I believe I must take great care, which is going to be difficult as I have no wish to have Miss Channing think I am cutting her,’ she concluded.
‘Oh.’ Pru stared at her, wide-eyed. ‘Then you couldn’t talk to his lordship about something?’
‘Only the merest commonplaces in passing. Why?’ Pru was looking positively dismayed. Now she looked back on the morning, the girl had seemed somewhat subdued ever since she had helped Decima dress.
‘It’s just that Jethro doesn’t think he’ll be able to have that cottage after all. In fact, he thinks he might lose his place if he marries me.’ Pru sniffed bravely ‘It’s a good position, he’s been there for years. I can’t ask him to give it up.’
‘When did this change of heart occur?’ Decima demanded. ‘You were quite happy yesterday.’
‘Jethro told me last night. He’s proper upset, but he said it wouldn’t do to carry on courting, not if he was about to lose his place. He said his lordship was on the high ropes when he came back yesterday. It’s all my fault,’ she concluded dismally. ‘If I hadn’t told his lordship you were at home yesterday, none of this would