Page 6 of To Swoon and to Spar
“Interesting,” Miss Spencer said, still sounding very doubtful.
“You’ve mentioned that you do not have siblings, Miss Spencer,” Penvale said, trying to redirect them toward more polite—or at least less openly combative—territory. “Were you and your parents close? I’m sorry to hear of your father’s death.” He paused, realizing that he wasn’t entirely certain when her father had died—it couldn’t have been that recently, since she was clearly out of mourning. “Er, belatedly sorry, I mean.”
“We were not close,” she said, ignoring his somewhat floundering attempts at offering condolences. “My mother died when I was a baby, and my father was in the navy and often away. I was more or less raised by servants.”
“Ah,” Penvale said. “And where was this?”
“Essex. A small village you wouldn’t have heard of.”
“Essex is lovely,” he said, trying to summon something, anything, to say that might make conversation with her feel less like pulling teeth. He paused, trying to conjure a memory of anything noteworthy about the county from his brief visits. “Very nice… cows,” he offered feebly.
“I hated Essex,” she said, lifting those striking violet eyes to meet his gaze directly. “I was more than happy to leave for Cornwall—it’s beautiful there. Unlike London,” she added sharply, a note of distinct distaste evident in her voice.
“Miss Spencer,” Diana interjected, “is something wrong? Have you been brought here today against your will? Should I summon the authorities?”
Miss Spencer regarded Diana coolly. “Is this your usual strategy when meeting potential wives for your brother? To speak to them so bluntly that they are shocked and scamper off like frightened little mice?”
Penvale bit his lip, suddenly possessed of the strangest desire to laugh. It wasn’t often that Diana encountered a woman who seemed utterly unintimidated by her, and it was even rarer to find this trait in a lady who was several steps down from Diana on the social ladder.
Diana, for her part, did not seem remotely cowed. “Miss Spencer, I can assure you that nothing about this entire conversation has been ordinary—up to and including the fact that, as far as I am aware, this is the first time my brother has seriously considered marriage.”
Miss Spencer returned that unsettling gaze to Penvale. “You must really want that house.”
And, because he did indeed really want that house, Penvale decided that he’d had quite enough of this unproductive line of conversation, and he rose. “Miss Spencer,” he said, “there is a lovely gardenbehind the house—would you care to take a turn about it with me?” He cast a dark look at the other occupants of the room. “Alone?”
She eyed him for a moment. “All right,” she said, rising and completely ignoring his proffered arm. “Ring for that butler of yours and have him fetch my pelisse.” She paused. “Please.” She added this last word as though bestowing some sort of boon upon him.
Penvale was already exhausted, and they hadn’t even left the room yet. He glanced over his shoulder, and his mood was not improved by the sight of Diana and Jeremy offering him silent mocking salutes.
This was not going well.
Jane gave herself a stern mental shake as she walked through Bourne House with the viscount, he walking slightly ahead of her, his shoulders stiff with what she guessed was irritation. Not that she could blame him, she supposed—that drawing room conversation had been something approaching a farce.
She had been so determined, before arriving, to present her most charming side to him. She was not eager to be married, but she’d wagered that the viscount would at least be somewhat more enjoyable company than his uncle, and she’d decided she would do whatever was necessary to ensure that this marriage took place. Despite the fact that they’d exchanged barely three sentences, all of which could be politely described as testy, she thought she’d guessed correctly. Marriage to the viscount would be preferable to being controlled by his uncle, and so lure him into marriage she must. It seemed, frankly, a somewhat daunting task—he was an aristocrat and moved among the most elevated ranks of society. Jane’s father had been a gentleman,and her years at finishing school had been spent among a set of well-connected girls of some means, but Lord Penvale was undoubtedly far more impressive a match than she ever would have dreamed of for herself. It was therefore time to make use of every ounce of charm and every feminine wile she possessed. However, when concocting this plan, she had neglected to consider one important fact: Jane had never been charming in her life. It had not helped that she had entered the room to discover that Lord Penvale was not alone—she hated being surprised by unexpected people.
Furthermore, even if shehadbeen prepared to meet them, she suspected that the marchioness would have caught her off guard. Lady Willingham was nothing at all like the polite, simpering society wife Jane would have expected. Ordinarily, she might have appreciated the marchioness’s bluntness, but today she hadn’t found it terribly enjoyable, since she was fairly certain that Lady Willingham was simply trying to make her as uncomfortable as possible.
Furthermore, Jane’s temper had not improved when she had heard the marchioness speculating about her appearance as she walked in—it had, in fact, given her some satisfaction to see Lady Willingham’s dumbfounded expression when she caught sight of her. Jane might not be a great beauty, but no one could ever accurately describe her as mousy. If only she had not followed up that small moment of triumph with a complete inability to make polite conversation.
Speaking of which…
“This is a lovely house,” she offered, and Lord Penvale glanced over his shoulder at her, slowing his pace slightly so that they were walking abreast.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’m pleased to hear there’s at least one thing about London that meets with your approval.” There was something inhis voice that made her think he might be almost… amused. This was unexpected, but it did nothing to improve her temper. “That is related to why I asked you to speak with me.”
“Because… I dislike London?” she asked, perplexed. They entered a room that, from a quick perusal, she realized was the library, and he immediately made for a set of French doors along one wall.
“Yes,” he said simply, opening the doors and stepping back to allow her to pass through. “You seemed so displeased to be here today that I wanted to ensure that my uncle wasn’t forcing you to marry me against your will.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling perversely irritated that he would be even remotely considerate when she had certainly done nothing so far to endear herself to him. Then she paused on the terrace, surveying the garden before her.“Oh.”
“My mother loved it out here,” Lord Penvale said, coming to a halt at her side and rubbing his hands together against the January chill. It was a gray, damp day—the sort of day when the cold seemed to seep into her bones and linger there. But even in the dead of winter, the gardens were beautiful. A tall hedge surrounded the perimeter, creating the feeling of a peaceful retreat from the world, and a formal garden with flower beds was set behind a wall in the center of the outer garden. Jane imagined it would be a riot of color in the spring and summer. She knew they were in the middle of London, but she felt suddenly at ease in a way she had not experienced once in the entire duration of her stay in town.
It wasn’t Cornwall, but it was still lovely.
“I can see why she adored it,” Jane said, turning to him with the closest thing to a natural smile she had managed all afternoon. “I feel as though I can take a deep breath at last, away from all the noise and bustle.”
“London has some very nice parks, you know,” he said as he led her to a bench and waited for her to take a seat before sinking down beside her. “Perhaps a visit to one of them would improve your opinion of town.”
