“Absolutely. You are witnessing the subtle workings of the mind of a sophisticated male who is about to embark on a game that he has played many times and at which he is something of a master—the game of flirtation.”
Whitney rolled her eyes in laughing dismissal. “I have witnessed many of Stephen’s casual flirtations with countless young ladies, and he has never behaved like this. Normally, he would be right there with Emily’s other admirers, playing ‘the game,’ only being even more witty and more charming than any of them.”
“You’re exactly right,” Clayton agreed. “But this time, it is apparently important to Stephen that the young lady in question realize from the outset that she is not to mistake him as merely one more conquest in today’s flock of easy conquests.”
“Why is that so very important to him?” Whitney persisted.
“Because, my love,” he said as he pressed a quick kiss to the top of her head, “Stephen doesn’t intend for this to be just another of his ‘casual flirtations.’ I think he’s decided that this game is one he wants to play for keeps.”
“That seems excessively impulsive of him, given his short acquaintance with her.”
In answer to that, Clayton regarded her in pointed silence, and when Whitney realized what he was thinking, she smothered a laugh. “Am I to assume that, when it comes to the matter of who you wish to wed, Westmoreland men are all shockingly impulsive?”
“I wouldn’t say that.”
“What would you say?”
“I would say that we are superb judges of women and we know when we have met one who is not only extraordinary, but who is right for us. Until that time, no force on earth can propel us to the altar, but once we have met her, we are not only willing to walk down the aisle with her, we are quite determined to make certain she makes the journey with us.”
“No matter how opposed she might be to it at first,” Whitney finished for him.
“Exactly.”
She was still laughing at that when Stephen removed himself from the group with whom he’d been sitting, and with every appearance of complete nonchalance, picked up two glasses of champagne from a tray on a table. He paused briefly to chat with his mother, paused again to speak with a distant elderly cousin, and somehow managed to arrive at the fireplace where Emily was standing just as the group around her disbanded, leaving her with only an ancient elderly cousin for company.
Fascinated, Whitney watched him offer her one of the glasses, but what amazed her was that when he handed her the glass, Stephen said absolutely nothing to her. He simply looked at her, then he lifted his glass to his mouth and looked at her over the rim for a moment. Emily followed suit—except that even from several yards away, Whitney could see that Emily’s hand began to tremble when she lifted her own glass for a sip of champagne.
Unconsciously, Whitney held her breath while Emily lowered her glass and seemed unable to break away from Stephen’s gaze. He said something to her, something very brief. She hesitated, then she smiled, nodded her head, and laid her hand on Stephen’s arm.
From their vantage point, Whitney and Clayton watched Stephen escort her from the room.
Since Clayton had seemed so certain of what Stephen was thinking and doing before, Whitney said softly, “Where do you think he’s taking her?”
“The gallery,” Clayton replied unhesitatingly. “It’s on the second floor, which removes them from earshot of everyone down here, but it’s also in full view of the main floor, which means her reputation will remain untarnished and her father will remain unconcerned.”
In order to glimpse the gallery, one had only to stroll to the doorway of the drawing room, but it could not be seen from where Whitney stood. “You can’t possibly be so certain he’ll take her there,” Whitney said.
“Would you care to make a small wager?”
“How much do you have in mind?” Whitney countered.
Leaning over, Clayton whispered to her the forfeit he had in mind if she lost, and a rosy blush tinted her cheeks, but her smile was filled with love and warmth.
Without waiting for her decision, Clayton offered her his arm. Whitney laid her fingers on it and followed him to the doorway of the drawing room.
She lost the wager.
* * *
By the end of September, the entire ton was waiting for the announcement of a betrothal between Stephen Westmoreland and the Duke of Lansberry’s daughter. In the betting book at White’s the odds were twenty-five to one that the betrothal would be announced before the end of the year. In October, the odds dropped to twenty to one when the Duke and Lady Emily left England for a two-month trip to Spain.
39
* * *
By December, the London sky was always dark, the air filled with smoke from thousands of coal fires. For that reason, the ton preferred to pass the winter in the fresh air and comfort of their country houses. There, they entertained groups of friends who came to stay for a sennight or even a fortnight and enjoyed such pass-times as hunting and card-playing. Women with marriageable daughters planned wardrobes for the spring social season and discussed with their friends the relative merits of all the eligible bachelors.
In past years, Stephen Westmoreland’s name had been high on every Mama’s list of “Most Eligibles,” but now, he was considered “Unavailable.” As the time approached for Lady Emily to return from Spain, the rumors and conjecture about her betrothal to Stephen escalated to a fever-pitch at country estates all over England.
Some of the gossips were confident that the betrothal had already been arranged before the duke and his daughter left for Spain; others believed that the details of the betrothal were to be finalized as soon as Lady Emily returned, and that the marriage would take place before the new year.
The only issue up for real debate during those early winter gossip sessions was whether the marriage would be a small, festive family affair in December or whether it would be a huge social event, like the Duke of Claymore’s had been, and take place in the spring. No one had any doubt that a marriage was going to take place, for it was obvious to everyone that Stephen Westmoreland had finally met the woman he wanted for his wife.
Rumor had it that Stephen had not only given up his bachelor ways, he’d given up his mistress, Helene Devernay, in favor of becoming Lady Emily’s regular escort. He performed that role with a relaxed urbanity and charming dedication that made him seem even more desirable husband material to those mamas and daughters who’d cherished hopes of an alliance with him.
Lady Emily appeared to bloom in the warmth of Stephen’s attention. Whenever he accompanied her to a ball or rout or to the theatre, she displayed a happy spontaneity that made her not only approachable but positively radiant.
The Duke of Lansberry was believed to be the most fortunate father in England, for he was not only gaining a wealthy aristocrat of impeccable birth and reputation for a son-in-law, he was also gaining a coveted alliance with the Westmoreland family.
It was assumed that Lansberry was overjoyed at his good fortune, but in that regard, the ton could only make assumptions, for the duke rarely fraternized with other members of the nobility. He cared nothing for society or society’s amusements and only put in a perfunctory appearance at those events which protocol absolutely required him to attend. He left his remaining social and political duties to his two sons. His only interest was in his estates; he was a man of the land as his forebears had been, and with his characteristic bluntness, he made that known.
Although he owned a stately London townhouse and had acquired several splendid estates, he preferred to reside within the brooding solitude of Landsdowne, a sprawling country house constructed in the middle ages by one of his ancestors and added to by each successive generation in whatever style was popular at the time.
To Stephen, who had studied architecture, Landsdowne was an ill-proportioned, poorly-constructed, gloomy monstrosity. In fact, the only thing he liked about it was that it was less than an hour’s trip f
rom his mother’s house at Grand Oak.
Stephen had decided to spend the month of December there, partly because Whitney and Clayton and Lord and Lady Gilbert had gathered there to spend the holidays with his mother, but also because it would enable him to be closer to Emily, who had returned from Spain the day before. He had managed to spend a few minutes with her late yesterday, after she’d sent him a note to tell him she was home, but she had looked exhausted and he had ordered her to get some sleep.
Now, however, he was incredibly eager to spend the entire evening with her and to settle matters with her father. He reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and withdrew the magnificent emerald and diamond betrothal ring that he intended to slide onto Emily’s finger as soon as he’d spoken to Lansberry tonight. It glowed in the light of the coach—a jewel fit for a queen, acquired for the price of a king’s ransom. He didn’t care about the cost and he wasn’t concerned about his meeting with Lansberry, because he had no reason whatsoever to expect that the duke would have any objection to his suit.
A light dusting of snow was falling from a moonless sky as a footman rushed out of the house to assist Stephen’s coachman with the horses. Lansberry’s butler opened the front door and reached up to help divest Stephen of his heavy cloak. “Good evening, my lord,” the butler intoned. He handed the cloak to a footman and turned to lead the way across the cold flagstone floor of the main hall. “Lady Emily is awaiting you in the east drawing room.”
“I would like to have a word with his grace first,” Stephen said.