The Kiss of a Viscount (The Daughters of the Aristocracy) (14 page)

“I overheard Father saying he has
several
,” Elizabeth said in a quiet voice. Her comment was met with audible gasps from both of her friends. “But I do not know from where he learned of it.”

Cocking her head to one side, Charlotte took a deep breath. “At least you two seem to suit one another,” she allowed, a tooth catching her lower lip, thinking that wasn’t necessarily reason enough to marry the man.

“And that matters most, I suppose,” Hannah said then, folding her hands together in her lap. From her perspective, it was reason enough to marry the man.

“Yes,” Elizabeth agreed with a nod, as if reassuring herself. “Yes, it
does
matter. And if he or someone else doesn’t ask for my hand this Season, I shall ask someone myself. I simply do not wish to be a burden to my parents any longer.”

There was stunned silence for several seconds as Hannah and Charlotte shared expressions of disbelief. And when Elizabeth allowed a self-deprecating smirk to appear, all three women burst into laughter that could be heard throughout the entire house.

“Well?”

George looked up to find Josephine standing over him, her hands clasped together as if she was trying to keep them still. His mistress had been in her bedchamber, just about to retire for the night, when she’d seen George’s town coach from her window. She watched as it rumbled around the corner and made its way down the alley behind her townhouse, as if it was heading for the mews at one end of the block. Given his penchant for discretion, Josephine wasn’t surprised when George entered her house through the back door, letting himself in with a key he kept hidden somewhere in the garden statuary.

Somewhat amused at her increasing impatience, George leaned back in the overstuffed chair in Josephine’s parlor and took a slow sip of brandy. He was tempted to make her wait a good deal longer before he regaled her with stories from that evening’s ball, but he wanted desperately to tell someone of his success. His friend Teddy was no doubt abed at this time of the night, given his need to be at the bank at an ungodly hour in the morning. And he knew Josephine wanted to hear about the ball from someone other than a Cyprian who might have been in attendance.

“I danced with Lady Elizabeth,” he stated with a curt nod. At Josephine’s expression of surprise, he added, “the second half of a waltz. The supper dance, no less. I owe the Duke of Somerset a huge favor in helping arrange the situation to my benefit.”

Josephine blinked, the curve of her lip slowly lifting into a tentative smile. “And?” she encouraged, wanting to know more.

“I escorted her to the supper.” He wasn’t disappointed when Josephine’s face brightened even more. “I brought her a plate of nibbles and conversed with her and Lady Charlotte until the orchestra resumed their play.” He took another sip of brandy, rather enjoying his mistress’ reaction to his description of the evening’s highlights.

“Go on!” Josephine nearly shouted.

George smiled, the expression making his eyes light up and his face lift into its most handsome visage. “I asked for a dance at Lady Worthington’s ball and have been assured I will have
two
saved for me.” He watched as Josephine took a seat in the settee directly across from his chair. “And I have reason to believe that one of those dances will not be for dancing, but rather for me to demonstrate the art of kissing.” With that last comment, George finished off his brandy, giving Josephine a look of satisfaction that suggested he was a cat who had just been given a rather large bowl of cream.

Josephine’s gasp filled the suddenly quiet parlor. “Indeed?” she replied, her smile quite broad. “Oh, well done, George,” she said, quickly standing up and moving to place her hands on either side of his face. She kissed him on the forehead. “And do you think the two of you would suit?” she asked carefully. Perhaps it was too early for George to decide if the daughter of David Carlington would make a suitable wife. If not her, though, Josephine was at a loss as to who else might. The other eligible debutantes of the Little Season were a collection of simpering idiots and three older chits who were clearly bluestockings. Although George would probably do fine with a bluestocking, Josephine would prefer he marry a woman with better political connections in the
ton
.

“I think I may be in love with her.”

The comment had been made in such a quiet voice, Josephine wasn’t quite sure she’d heard correctly. “Oh,” she replied with a quick nod. “Well, that was ... this is ... a bit ...”

“Unexpected, I know,” George finished for her, a sigh escaping as he leaned forward in the chair. The smile he’d displayed only moments before was replaced with a look of sadness. “Teddy warned me, you know. He said I would like her.”

Catching her lip with a tooth, Josephine regarded George in surprise. “Did he now?” She took a breath and glanced off to one side. “I saw him today. At ... At the bank. He looked ... he looked as if he’d never lost his arm,” she stammered suddenly. “How can that be, George? And how does Mr. Streater know Lady Elizabeth?” she wondered suddenly, turning to face him again.

George leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, wondering at Josephine’s discomfiture. He’d never known her to stammer, never known her to seem unsure of herself, never known her to be anything other than a confident, proud consort. “He was her first ... client, I suppose you would call him. For her charity. ‘Lady E’s Finding Work for the Wounded’. She negotiated with Whitaker for Teddy’s position at the bank. And it sounds as if his arm, which Lady E arranged to have made, is a success.”

Josephine cocked her head to one side. “So, there is more to Lady Elizabeth than just a pretty face?” she commented lightly, wondering if the chit’s father was behind the charity. As she gave it some thought, though, she rather doubted it; David Carlington had complained on more than one occasion that supporting his wife’s charities were a drain on his finances. Josephine made a mental note to ask the marquess when she next paid him a visit. A frown suddenly replaced her smile. “What of Trenton? Was he there?”

The look of satisfaction on George’s face was replaced with one of disgust. Rolling his eyes, he pinched the top of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Yes, he was there.”

“Did he kiss her?” Josephine wondered, her own expression one of worry. “Did anyone witness ..?”

“Yes, and no. At least, not if you don’t count me,” George replied with a self-deprecating smile. At Josephine’s worried look, he smiled quite broadly. “Lady Elizabeth said his kiss was horrible.” He watched in delight as Josephine’s expression changed.

“Say again?” she whispered.

“It was horrible. And he apparently licked her. Which only made it worse for him.”

When he heard his mistress giggle, he blinked.

He’d never heard Josephine giggle before.

She sounded like a young schoolgirl who had just been chased by the ducks on the Serpentine. The musical sound continued for several more seconds before his mistress covered her mouth with a hand. “Oh, George. You really must warn me before you tell me such stories,” Josephine admonished him, one of her arms wrapped in front of her waist as if she had to hold herself up.

George regarded her with a tightly controlled grin. “Which is why I’ll be demonstrating the art of kissing at Lady Worthington’s ball,” he stated as seriously as he could given Josephine’s reaction. “Lady Elizabeth will be my subject. I’m thinking the library will be a suitable setting.”

He rather enjoyed watching Josephine then. Seeing her facial expression change from one of amusement to one of astonishment. Seeing her eyes suddenly regard him with newfound respect.

“Well done, George,” she whispered, a grin still on her face.

Everyone thought they could trust George Bennett-Jones, Viscount Bostwick. It was past time he made his honorable trait work in his favor.

Getting up from the chair, George took Josephine’s hand and kissed the back of it. “Thank you,” he said before he kissed her cheek. “You made this evening possible, you must know.” For a moment, he thought he might ask if he could spend the night, but the image of Lady Elizabeth appeared his mind’s eye. Giving Josephine a quick hug, George took his leave of her and headed to his townhouse in Park Lane.

Chapter 13
A Marquess and a Viscount Discuss a Certain Charity

“Lord Morganfield,” George called out, hurrying down the steps to join the elder peer outside the House of Lords. When David Carlington slowed his descent to allow George to join him, George added, “A word if I may?”

Morganfield regarded the new viscount with a cocked eyebrow, the expression exaggerated due to the wig he still wore. “Bostwick,” he acknowledged George with a nod. “You look well. Becoming a member of the
ton
seems to agree with you.”

George was careful to still his features; he’d been nervous since the moment he decided he would ask the marquess for permission to court his daughter. Morganfield’s comment was meant to draw a smile, but George would not allow one until he was sure he had something about which to smile. “As it always has with you, I am sure,” George responded, allowing his lips to curve a bit. They were at the bottom of the stairs and heading down the wide hallway toward one of the entrances to Parliament.

“It was noble of you to have escorted my daughter to the supper last night,” Morganfield responded, wondering if George’s request for a moment of his time might have something to do with her. Ever since Josephine Wentworth’s last visit, he’d been wondering if the viscount would approach him about his intentions with respect to Elizabeth.

George smiled then. “There was nothing noble about accompanying a beautiful woman to a supper, my lord,” George replied with a shake of his head. They passed through the wide entry doors, opened for them by liveried footman who stood at attention on either side of the entrance. Bright sunshine washed over them. “It was my pleasure, I assure you. She is an interesting woman ...”

“Who is spoiled rotten,” Morganfield interjected.

“Who knows her mind and is quite determined to accomplish something important,” George continued, as if he hadn’t heard the marquess. He was referring to her charity, of course, but wanted to discover how much Morganfield was contributing toward its goal.

Morganfield paused and then stopped walking. “You are sure ... are we talking about
my
daughter?” he asked, as if George’s comment could not have been about Elizabeth Carlington.

“Indeed,” George answered, his brows furrowing and a wave of nervousness suddenly engulfing him. “Lady Elizabeth,” he clarified with a nod. “I have a very good friend, a man who was badly wounded at Quatro Bras. Due to your daughter’s contacts and money from her charity’s coffers, he has been able to return to his old clerking position,” George stated, watching Morganfield’s face for evidence that he knew something of Elizabeth’s charity. At the blank look the marquess displayed, George shook his own head quickly. “Never mind, my lord. I only asked for a moment of your time because I wished to request your permission to court Lady Elizabeth.”

But David Carlington’s curiosity was suddenly acute. “What did you say?”

Suddenly more nervous, George glanced around, wanting to be sure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation. “I wish to court your daughter,” he said in a lowered voice, aware a flush of red was slowly rising to cover his face. He hoped the brim of his top hat was hiding the worst of it.

“Of course, fine, fine,” Morganfield said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “What did you say about her
charity’s coffers
?”

Stunned, George stared at the marquess. He’d expected Morganfield to scoff at him. He’d expected him to claim his daughter could marry no lower than an earl. Then he’d expected an inquisition in response to his rebuttal, one he’d carefully rehearsed, outlining how it was he would make a good and faithful protector, extolling the virtues of the newly remodeled Bostwick Place, enumerating the profits of his three coal mines, describing the new town coach in the renovated carriage house, explaining that he would take on the patronage of Lady E’s charity ...

“Which charity?” Morganfield asked then, apparently for the second time. “I’m aware she is involved with a few of Lady Morganfield’s charities, of course,” he added quickly, not wanting to seem as if he was ignorant of his daughter’s activities.

George straightened, realizing just then that David Carlington knew
nothing
of Lady E and Associates’ Finding Work for the Wounded.
So, he’s not an associate.

But if that was the case, where had the money come from to pay the bribe?

“May I ask, my lord. Do you provide Lady Elizabeth with an allowance? Or some amount of pin money on a regular basis?” George wondered then, hoping he didn’t come off too curious.

The marquess blinked once, twice before his brows furrowed together. “I give her an allowance, of course. She gets twenty guinea or so every month during the Season, but I only do that because I require that she pay for all her own purchases. She’s not allowed to have any bills sent to me,” he explained with a pointed finger that bobbed up and down to drive home his point. He seemed annoyed at having to explain himself. “Now, what is this about her
charity
?”

George debated with himself for a very long time before reaching into his waistcoat pocket. He drew out the calling card he had taken from Teddy and held it out to the marquess.

Morganfield gave him a suspicious glance before turning his attention to the white pasteboard. “Lady E and Associates. Finding work for the wounded,” he read aloud, his eyes widening as he noticed the address at the bottom of the card. “Good God, she’s got an
office
!” the marquess exclaimed when he realized where in Oxford Street the address was located. He stared at the card for a bit longer, shaking his head as he did so. Finally looking at George, he asked, “How long as she been ... Lady E?”

Shrugging, George replied, “Not long, I think. I believe my friend was her first placement.” He debated with himself as to whether or not he should mention the bribe. “I gather from your reaction that Lady Elizabeth has not approached you about ...
funding
her venture.”

The marquess seemed surprised by the query and then remembered George’s earlier question about an allowance. “You gather correctly,” Morganfield replied, his attention on something far away, as if he was just realizing something. “No wonder she didn’t wear a new gown for last night’s ball,” he murmured absently, his attention still not entirely on George. “She had her mother quite vexed when she wore one from two Seasons ago. I, of course, didn’t notice, but Lady Morganfield was quite sure some old biddy would, and then there would be a scandalous mention of it in the society pages of
The Times
. Can’t have that, I suppose,” he added with a hint of a scowl that soon turned up at the corners of his mouth.

“I suppose not,” George replied with a shrug, his lips curving to indicate he shared Morganfield’s amusement at the dictates of women’s fashion. If Elizabeth’s gown had been from the last
century
, George was quite sure he wouldn’t have noticed. After all, who looked at a woman’s gown when she had the face of an angel and such gorgeous hair? “With your permission, my lord, I will take Lady Elizabeth for a ride in the park this week.”

Morganfield nodded. “Of course. And, as I’m sure you are already aware, there are ... others ... who are interested.” He said this last as a warning, his lips pursing when he considered the identity of one earl who was proving to be as irritating as Josephine Wentworth had promised. “I haven’t arranged anything on her behalf. And unlike in year’s past, I do not plan to interfere with her choice this year.”
Except maybe to have a certain earl embarrassed in chambers, if that can be arranged
.

George considered the comment. If the Earl of Trenton was successful in his pursuit of Lady Elizabeth, then her father would not interfere.
Damn
! But the marquess had apparently prevented past suitors from asking for Elizabeth’s hand. So ... why not now? Why protect her from fortune seekers for two years and then let her loose to make her own match?

And then a thought came to mind that had him reeling.

How had Lady Elizabeth managed to stay unattached for so long? Unless the marquess was still pulling the puppet strings, George could not imagine how the beauty could still be biddable.

Unless she really was a spoiled brat.

“Thank you, Lord Morganfield. I shall take that into consideration,” George answered. With a bow, he took his leave of the marquess and headed for Oxford Street.