The Appeal of an Elusive Viscount Page 4

  A moment later, Penelope was assisted to sit across the table. Eyes wide, her younger sister looked at Clara with expectation. “The arrangements are quiet nice wouldn’t you agree, dear sister?” she said emphasizing the word “nice”.

  “Yes, they are,” Clara, replied. “I expect the meal will be so as well.”

  It was Mr. Yarnsby and not the viscount who assisted Vivian to sit and Penelope frowned in his direction.

  The moment William Torrington lowered to the chair next to Clara’s, his very scent made her entire body tingle with awareness. Goodness, would people guess how he affected her? It wasn’t attraction, not at all. The kiss between them had to be the reason her cheeks warmed and breathing became a struggle. It was silly that she responded that way. She’d been kissed before and, upon seeing the man again, she’d not had such a strong reaction.

  It had to be that she was becoming ill. Just two days earlier, her maid, Molly, had come down with a terrible cold. Now that she considered it, she’d interacted with the maid to borrow the dress.

  “Are you not hungry?” A servant held a platter in front of her. It was then Clara noted several people looking at her as if wondering if she was blind and deaf.

  “Oh, goodness,” Clara said, taking a small serving of meat. She gave the server a polite smile. “I do apologize.”

  Once the meal was served, she looked down at her plate. It held one carrot, one piece of potato and a small morsel of meat. How in the world was this going to be enough? She was positively starved. Her stomach rumbled in agreement, a mortifying hiccup followed.

  “You must not be hungry,” William Torrington said, noting she stared at her plate.

  Clara frowned. “I am. I’m not sure why I didn’t get more food.”

  The host announced news of a guest pianist who’d be entertaining after the meal. As everyone was distracted, Torrington’s elbow nudged her arm.

  He’d slipped meat and a several pieces of potato onto her plate. Keeping her head up, she peered down at her plate and then across the table to Penelope who pressed her lips together as if trying to stifle a smile. She failed miserably.

  “How nice,” Penelope exclaimed and waved nonchalantly toward Vivian. “Vivian is an accomplished pianist. Perhaps, you’d like to come to our home and hear for yourself, My Lord,” she said to Torrington.

  Vivian blushed, Mr. Yarnsby looked at the viscount and Clara held her breath.

  “I’d love to hear her play.”

  With a wide grin, Penelope looked to their mother. “Did you hear that, Mother? Viscount Torrington would love to pay a visit.”

  “Of course,” their mother replied with a wide smile. “I will ensure to send you an invitation, My Lord.”

  “Please, call me William. In Berkhamsted, I forgo my title, which makes everyone using it here seem strange.”

  Penelope and her mother exchanged looks and then looked to Clara as if she should say something. Nothing came to mind. However, when the man regarded her, she cleared her throat.

  “I think William is a very good name...William.”

  “Thank you.” Thankfully, Yarnsby interjected and asked about their plans for the holidays, deftly changing the conversation away from awkwardness.

  A few bites later, her meal was gone. Clara stared down at her plate and then to Penelope’s, which remained piled with food. Her sister was not one for propriety and because of it, their mother had a constant headache. However, in this instance, the food had been so delicious that Clara wished she’d paid more attention when filling her plate.

  With narrowed eyes, she slid a glance at the annoyingly distracting dark prince who spoke in quiet tones to Vivian.

  When she turned to her right, Doolittle was deep in conversation with the lady to his right. This was turning out to be a boring meal.

  She fidgeted in her seat until her mother gave her a pointed look. Then, leaning forward, she listened to see what both Yarnsby and Torrington spoke of with Vivian.

  “I believe the ideas of society’s roles for people who live in the city are quite different that those who reside in a more sparse environment,” Yarnsby said. “For instance...”

  Torrington turned to Clara, seeming to sense her listening in. “Do you think, Miss Humphries, that young ladies in the city are more prone to stick to the roles society has set for them?”

  “Oh,” she croaked and had to clear her throat. “Yes. However, to be held to certain norms dictated by others can be rather frustrating.”

  His eyes darkened and, for a split second, moved to her lips. “I can understand that.”

  “What about you, My Lord...er, William? It seems you are uncomfortable with your title. And yet, society dictates that you be addressed as such when you are here.”

  There was no hint of a smile. Although Clara did not know him enough to read his expressions, she’d guess the subject was something much more personal than just a title.

  “I carry my title with pride. My father, the Duke of Torrington, is a great man. However, amongst those I consider friends or peers, the use of titles doesn’t suit me.” He lifted and lowered a wide shoulder. “It could be that I rarely find myself here in London and therefore am unused to it.”

  She studied him for a moment. The background faded as they regarded each other for much longer than appropriate. In her opinion, the title suited him well. Viscount was perfect for his dark features and stern personality. That he didn’t seem comfortable with it only made it more suitable.

  The ding of a fork against crystal caught everyone’s attention and Clara quickly turned away from Torrington. At her intake of breath, Doolittle turned to her.

  “I, too, am looking forward to hearing the pianist. I heard his performance was masterful when he played for King George.”

  Her chair was pulled back as Torrington assisted her to stand. For a moment, she wondered if he’d offer his arm since Doolittle had turned to the woman on his right and was now escorting her away.

  “Miss Humphries,” Torrington said, holding out his arm. She slipped her hand through it. The contact of her hand on the fabric of his sleeve sent strange sensations up her arm.

  Whatever was wrong with her? She most certainly was about to fall horribly ill.

  “Have you always been prone to daydreaming?” he whispered in her ear as he led her to the ballroom.

  “I believe I am coming down with a cold. My friend, Molly, is sick. I may have contracted it from her.”

  Distracting. He was utterly and totally distracting. It was best to tear herself away and put distance between them as quickly as possible.

  A servant walked by and both she and Torrington accepted a cup of punch. Clara needed more as her throat was as dry as the desert.

  Penelope came to them dragging Vivian by the hand. “My Lord, you must allow Vivian to show you the gardens. The music will surely be heard from the balcony.”

  “Yes,” Clara almost shouted. “They are most nice, even during the winter.”

  Their eldest sister looked to them as if they’d grown a second head. “It’s positively freezing outside. I have no cloak.”

  “It won’t take but a minute,” Penelope insisted. “Isn’t that right, Clara?”

  Vivian looked to Torrington as if for help. “Forgive me, My Lord. It’s not that I don’t wish to.”

  Unabashed, he bowed at the waist. “I will go look at the gardens and return to hear from you all about it.” He turned and walked away.

  The jolt of Vivian’s elbow against her waist made Clara gasp and some of her punch spilled out of her cup onto the tile flooring. At the same time, she heard a whimper from Penelope. Vivian was quiet adept at pinching and jabbing without anyone suspecting.

  “Ouch,” Penelope complained while she rubbed her lower arm. “How can you pinch so hard? That really hurt. I am trying hard to help you find a suitor. You should be thanking me.”

  Vivian glared at her sister. “You are being embarrassingly obvious. Why, even the wallpap
er is aware of what you’re doing. Stop it immediately.”

  “Oh, no. Here comes Doolittle,” Penelope groaned. “The man is forever trying to get our attention.”

  Just then, William Torrington appeared from the balcony headed toward them. As he moved closer, Mr. Yarnsby joined him.

  With flapping of arms and some sort of strange dance Doolittle slipped on the spilled punch. With a loud yelp, he fell to his bottom and slid feet first into Clara, causing her to fall sideways.

  In a desperate attempt to keep from falling, Clara dropped her cup and grabbed Vivian’s arm. Unfortunately, caught by surprise, her sister lost her balance and both sisters ended up a crumpled heap atop a very wet Randolph Doolittle.

  Gasps sounded and the piano music came to an alarming stop.

  The only sound in the ballroom for a moment was Penelope laughing.

  Chapter Five

  The pianist was excellent. William ended up remaining longer than he’d planned. Seated near the entrance, he was joined by Genevieve Hart, a woman with an alarmingly low-cut dress and an inviting smile. Although she was the farthest from his type, she provided a good shield against Mrs. Smiting, who’d constantly attempted to bring him into conversations with her daughters. Both young ladies seemed too glum to do more than mutter yes or no whenever he brought up a subject.

  After the collapse between Doolittle and the Humphries sisters, the young women now sat between their parents, who remained with stoic expressions while listening to the music.

  It had been rather comical to watch. However, he imagined the sisters were horribly embarrassed with what had transpired. Except for the youngest, whom he took a liking to, who’d giggled until she was pinched by her mother.

  Clara sat ramrod straight, her hands folded over the punch stain on her gown. Although her expression was serene, it was obvious she enjoyed the music by the soft smile tugging the corner of her lips.

  Those lips. The ones he’d kissed that had been so pliant against his own. Her body had been soft as well. She’d fit perfectly against his frame when she’d finally relaxed into him.

  “How long will you remain in the city, My Lord?” Genevieve asked, bringing him out of musings best left for a more private time.

  “I am not sure as yet. My parents come in a week and Mother has plans to attend certain events as well as entertain.”

  Her gaze moved to his mouth, leaving no doubt of where her thoughts were. “Perhaps you’d allow me to entertain you at my home one evening?”

  The thought of a sexual affair had merit. Currently, he didn’t have a mistress and a dalliance in the city was something he had planned on. However, the woman did not elicit any reaction from him. She was pleasant enough and certainly attractive. However, desirability was not there.

  “I will keep it in mind, I promise,” he replied noncommittally.

  The woman pouted. “I hope you will.”

  Across the room, two women, both older and no doubt pointing out the virtues of their daughters trapped poor Yarnsby in a corner. Three younger women sat just a few feet away watching the interaction with rapt attention.

  He wondered whose situation was worse, his or his best friend’s. The music finally ended and the conversations became louder. William stood and leaned over Genevieve’s hand. “I must find my friend, Mr. Yarnsby, and take our leave. We have an early morning appointment with the actuary.” In truth, he did plan to accompany Alexander in the morning. His friend would want his opinion on how to handle certain things.

  The woman nodded, her gaze already moving around the room searching the men’s faces.

  Loneliness was a terrible thing for some. On the other hand, to William, being alone was what he craved. Time alone was a familiar, albeit not always welcome occurrence.

  * * *

  Once outside the Barrows’ mansion, Alexander shook his head, looking up as their carriage was delivered. “These things never cease to surprise me,” his friend said.

  Settling into the plush seat, William loosened his cravat. “In what way did today’s dinner surprise you? The tumbling to the floor of the Humphries sisters, or the raw desperation of the women of marriageable age who threw themselves at you?”

  Alexander let out a long breath. “In truth, the women being paraded like prized horses by their mothers did not surprise me. Did you notice that Mrs. Humphries did not push her daughters to speak to us?”

  “I did. They are an actuary’s daughters who do not aspire to marry someone titled, I believe.”

  “It could be. However, it did not stop the other women there. And besides, I don’t have a title.”

  William studied his dear friend. Alexander had lost much recently. His father died, declaring him the full heir without any instructions or information of what, exactly, was in the family’s estate. The man had always remained distant from Alexander and rarely included him in any business transactions. As much as Alexander’s mother had tried to bring them closer as a family, her husband insisted on keeping them at arm’s length.

  It had been heartbreaking for Lady Claudia Yarnsby to find out that the earl had a double life. The earl had a second family, another estate and two other children, a son and a daughter younger than Alexander. Needless to say, the earl’s funeral had been a debacle of giant proportions.

  Although Alexander was eligible to take his father’s title, he’d decided against it. The title of earl remained unclaimed, as the other younger bastard born son was not able to use it.

  “I do believe, however,” Alexander interrupted William’s musings, “that the musical portion was well done. Did you and your companion enjoy it?”

  William did his best not to glower. “The woman is a widow. And she was very clear that she is willing to share her bed.”

  “So why are you here with me?”

  “Something about her made me wary. I chose to follow my intuition. It’s best, sometimes, to pay attention to the head up here.” He tapped his temple. “And you, anyone interesting?”

  Alexander was never one to keep thoughts to himself. It was both refreshing and the reason for many a brawl between them. Since childhood, William had found himself drawn into an exchange of fists over something Alexander spouted without thought.

  “I found myself enthralled by Vivian Humphries. She is open, honest and will not bite her tongue, while at the same time reserved and shy. A very interesting combination.”

  “It must run in the family,” William replied. “Her sisters are the same, not adhering to social conventions, while never seeming to lose the ability to appear appropriate. An art form of sorts.”

  His friend’s lips curved. “I noticed.”

  * * *

  “My Lord, your parents have arrived.” Charles greeted them at the door with a wide grin. It widened even more at his grimace.

  “Thank you, Charles. I assume they’ve retired?” William walked into the front room and went to the sideboard to pour a brandy.

  Before Charles could answer, his mother entered, her face bright with excitement. “I was so pleased to hear you attended the Barrows’ dinner party. You must tell me all about it.”

  She allowed him to kiss her cheeks before taking his hand and tugging him to sit. “Who was there? Did the Barrows have music?”

  He smiled indulgently at his mother. She beamed with excitement. Theresa Torrington looked ten years younger than her true age. She was often mistaken for being his sister and not his mother.

  Part of her youthful appearance had to do with her exuberance for life. Her sparkling, hazel, almond-shaped eyes lifted at the corners. Coupled with her olive skin, her eyes gave his mother an exotic look. This night, her hair was down, unbound, flowing past her shoulders to the center of her back.

  She’d often had to rush to put her hair up whenever someone visited, which the family had come to call her “hair rush”.

  “It was well attended,” Alexander said, pouring three glasses of brandy. “The house was aglow with what had to be hundr
eds of candles.”

  As Alexander recounted the evening to his mother, William sat back, adding a comment or two.

  William’s mind drifted to the dinner party. The Humphries sisters were, indeed, beauties. The middle sister, Clara, had seemed nervous upon him recognizing her. Although, at first, she’d been resistant to his approach, it seemed she worried more about her mother overhearing than her sisters.

  Although he’d found her pretty in the dowdy dress she’d worn at Brooks’, she’d been resplendent that night. She’d not treated him any differently than at the club, although she’d learned his name and title. That, in itself, was refreshing.

  He wasn’t sure if she found him appealing in any way. Most of the evening, he’d been so distracted by all the introductions and being tugged this way and that to make acquaintances, that the only time he’d been able to speak to her was at dinner. And even then, his attention had been divided between all three sisters and the ever-present Doolittle.

  Alexander’s deep voice continued on describing the music and how much everyone had enjoyed the pianist’s performance.

  It was endearing, the way his mother leaned forward, hands clutched as she took in every detail of the evening.

  “Oh, how I wish I had arrived earlier so I could have attended,” she exclaimed when Alexander described the different dessert offerings.

  At the retelling of the Humphries sisters’ tumble, thanks to a clumsy Randolph Doolittle, she laughed with delight.

  “I remember Sarah Humphries. She is a delightful woman. Her daughters are lovely, their red hair so vibrant.”

  His mother hesitated for a moment. “I look forward to seeing the Humphries. As a matter of fact, I will send word with Charles that we would like to pay a visit.” She covered her mouth, stifling a yawn. “Goodness, it’s quite late. I should seek my bed.”

  After kissing them each on the cheek, she left the room.

  “If all women were like your mother, life would be so much easier,” Alexander said with a smile.