Chapter Seventeen #3
She hated London. Winifred, that was. She far preferred the hills around Bath.
She had a horror of the military with its ranks of killers, himself included.
She was realistic about the shortcomings of out-and-out peace loving but was as close to being against all violence as she reasonably could be.
She was a nameless orphan, who had been abandoned in a basket on the steps of an orphanage when she was about one month old.
She was, from any objective standpoint, neither beautiful nor pretty.
She had no figure to speak of. She was thirteen years his junior.
Thirteen. She was Owen’s friend. Close friend.
She was very attached to her family and to the family enterprise in Bath, in which she was fully involved.
All of these facts, which had been churning in his head since yesterday, spelled just one word when added together. Impossible.
Not just unlikely or improbable.
Impossible.
Except that he was in love with her.
His daisy in a garden of elaborate, exotic blooms.
The recital was not a long one. It had been planned so in order not to cut into all the afternoon activities. The choir sang one encore when the audience demanded it of them, and that was it.
—
Stephanie accepted all the praises that were heaped upon her singing after the concert was over with her customary comment that it was the whole choir that had made the song so memorable. The last person to congratulate her was having nothing to do with such modesty, however.
“Rather, I would say it was you who made the choir memorable during that song, Stephanie,” Bertrand Lamarr, Viscount Watley, said.
Stephanie smiled fleetingly as she thanked him and turned away.
Fortunately, she had recovered from the terrible infatuation she had once felt for him and the feeling of inadequacy that had plagued her the last time he was here at Ravenswood, and in London during that horrid come-out Season.
She had far more self-confidence these days, as she ought to at the age of twenty-five.
She had not lied to Winifred a few days ago when she had said she was quite happy despite her single state.
She rather enjoyed being single. And she did have prospects, amiable relationships with eligible gentlemen that might or might not blossom into definite courtship.
She was certainly not desperate. However, she would be happier without the reminder of her former self in the form of Viscount Watley. She wished he would go away.
“May I walk back to Ravenswood with you?” he asked.
It was impossible to say no without being unpardonably rude. The choir had dispersed. Sir Ifor was leaving the church with Lady Rhys. She sighed inwardly.
“Thank you,” she said.
He was smiling and looking thoroughly amiable. Did he ever not look amiable?
“Tell me about your sister’s baby,” she said as they walked. “David, I believe? This must be a very exciting time for her and her husband. And for you.”
“Well,” he said, “he is the most handsome baby in the world, of course.” There was laughter in his voice.
“I am familiar with the conviction that there can be no more beautiful a baby than the one that has just been born,” she said.
“I was here when Devlin and Gwyneth’s children were born, and I spent time with Pippa when Pamela was born.
Oh, the wonder of it. I love being an aunt. Do you love being an uncle?”
“I do,” he said as they crossed the bridge out of the village. “Will you reserve a set for me at tonight’s ball, Stephanie? Preferably a waltz?”
Oh, she adored waltzing. But really? With Bertrand Lamarr, Viscount Watley? What had prompted him to ask her of all people? She had not been impolite to him since his arrival, but she had not encouraged him either.
And then, just as she was opening her mouth to say a polite yes, it happened—the overpowering urge to wipe the amiable expression from his face. Suddenly, it looked not amiable but…complacent.
“Thank you, but no,” she said.
He looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Ah,” he said. “You have promised the waltz to someone else, have you? Perhaps, then, some other—”
“No.” She cut him off. “I do not wish to dance with you, Viscount Watley. I wish you would leave me alone. I wish you would not assume that you can have whatever you want whenever you want it. I do not wish to dance with you, this evening or ever.”
She listened to herself, appalled. When had he ever shown any sign of arrogance or entitlement? When had she ever been rude to anyone? Courtesy at all costs had been drilled into her from childhood on.
“Besides,” she said, “this is a country ball. No one has to reserve a set ahead of time.”
His face was blank of all expression. But there was surely a bit of a flush in his cheeks.
“I beg your pardon.” He made her a stiff bow. “I did not realize I had been pestering you and that my attentions, such as they have been, are unwelcome to you. It will not happen again.”
He turned on his heel and left her standing in the middle of the bridge.