The Daring Miss Darcy (Lost Ladies of London #4)(30)

Vane forced a smile though he was somewhat relieved she had changed the subject. “May I call on you this evening?” The question left his lips without thought. Damnation. Never had he sounded so eager, so desperate.

“Have you forgotten? I promised Mr Hungerford he could call.”

Anger erupted deep within. How the hell he kept it at bay he would never know. “Are you aware as to the nature of his visit?” What he really wanted to ask was what the bloody hell Hungerford wanted.

Estelle glanced at the ground before looking up into his eyes. “Mr Erstwhile thinks Mr Hungerford will offer marriage. We dined with him last night, and he has been most attentive of late.”

“Does Hungerford have children?” Did he hold Estelle in high esteem or did his motive stem from necessity?

“No.”

“Does he know anything about your background?”

“No, and I have no intention of telling him anything.”

“You will have to tell him if you agree to his proposal.” He was trying to be magnanimous, trying to be a man who had let go of petty resentment.

Something akin to disappointment flashed in her eyes. “I do not intend to accept him, Ross. How can I when … when I intend to leave London in a few days?”

“You said you would delay your departure.”

The shop bell tinkled, and Mr Erstwhile appeared at the threshold. “My lord, good day to you.” He gestured to the parcel in Vane’s hand. “I trust those are my provisions. Mr Potter must have been extremely busy to have kept you waiting.”

“Forgive the delay,” Estelle said. “It wasn’t Mr Potter’s fault. Lord Trevane and I had much to discuss.”

“Indeed.” Mr Erstwhile ushered them into the shop. “Mr Hungerford appeared most inconvenienced to be overthrown as her chaperone, and so easily, too.”

Vane wasn’t sure if the old man was admonishing him for shoddy manners. He handed him the parcel. “I’m afraid I did not give Hungerford much choice in the matter.”

“No, I don’t suppose you did. There is much at stake is there not?” Mr Erstwhile raised a knowing brow.

“More than you know.”

A smile touched the old man’s lips. “Any worthy gentleman would have put up a decent fight,” he said. “If there is one thing I cannot abide it is a man who fails to stand up for his beliefs no matter what the cost.”

Vane inclined his head in agreement. He could feel Estelle watching him. “I share your disdain for such things.”

Mr Erstwhile placed the parcel on the counter. “Would it surprise you to learn that, in all my years, I know of only one gentleman who has sacrificed his position in society to follow his heart?”

Vane might not be as wise as this man, but he knew to whom Erstwhile referred. “No, it does not surprise me. I only hope I have your strength of will when it matters.”

“You are extremely astute, my lord.”

“Not always.” He had not been shrewd enough to prevent Estelle’s hasty departure and had made many assumptions that had since proved foolish.

“Well,” Estelle said with a sigh. “We have much to do, and so I shall bid you a good day, my lord.”

That was his cue to leave, and yet he wanted to stay. He imagined shrugging out of his coat and helping Mr Erstwhile with his bottles, listening to his philosophical advice on life. He pictured sitting in a cramped parlour, eating stew, watching every expression playing on Estelle’s beautiful face.

Vane inclined his head. “Good day, Miss Brown.” He stared into her dark eyes and in his mind whispered, Dream of me.

“Might we see you again, my lord?” Mr Erstwhile asked though from his tone the man already knew the answer.

“Undoubtedly.”

Mr Erstwhile walked over and held open the door. “A wise woman once told me that wealth and position are merely a means to appease one’s pride. That the heart needs no such adornments.”

Vane glanced up at the ceiling. “Would I be right in assuming you married that woman?”

Mr Erstwhile smiled and raised both brows. “Good day, my lord. No doubt we will see you again tomorrow.”





Chapter Nine





Upon witnessing Vane approach the carriage, Wickett closed his book and placed it on the box seat next to him. He straightened, gathered the reins in his gloved hands and sat awaiting a command.

“What were you reading?” Vane asked, grateful for an opportunity to tease his coachman. “Advice on how to deal with an obstinate master? Or how best to respond when one’s employer spouts gibberish?” Perhaps it was a book on witty quips to tease the upper classes. That’s what came of hiring a coachman who could read.

Wickett shook his head. “No, my lord. It’s one of those gothic novels all the ladies are talking about … Nocturnal Visit.”

“Nocturnal Visit?” Vane snorted. Wickett enjoyed testing his patience. “Let me guess. It’s about a man who gets lost in the fog at night and is ravaged by a wolf instead of an angel.”

Wickett shook his head. “I’ve got to the part where the lady realises her friends only like her when she has money. And now some fancy nabob has come and is turning her head with his flowery words and pretty talk.”