husband?"
Whitney nodded, and he added, "She'd been out three seasons, and her father
told me he'd all but despaired of ever seeing her suitably married. Now the
match is the talk of the whole damn countryside!" His gaze levelled
accusingly on Lady Anne, rebuking her for having failed to see Whitney
suitably married.
Lady Anne stiffened and Whitney hastily tried to
interject a teasing note into her voice. "Surely you haven't despaired of
seeing me suitably married?" "Yes," he said bluntly. "I had." Pride demanded
that Whitney tell him of the dozen splendid offers Uncle Edward had received
for her hand; reason warned that her father would react violently to the
discovery that, without consulting him, Uncle Edward had rejected those
offers. Why was her father so cold and unapproachable? Whitney wondered
unhappily. Could she ever hope to bridge the gulf between them? Putting her
cup down, she gave him a warm, conspiratorial smile and said lightly, "If it
would lessen your mortification at having an unwed daughter already out four
seasons, Aunt Anne and I could have it whispered about that I declined
offers from two baronets, an earl, a duke, and a prince!"
"Is this true, Madam?" he snapped at Aunt Anne. "Why
wasn't I informed of these offers?"
"Of course, it isn't true," Whitney interceded, trying
to keep the smile pasted on her face. "I've met only one real duke and one
imposter-and I detested them both equally. I did meet a Russian prince, but
he was already spoken for by the princess, and I doubt she'd give him up so
that I could outdo Emily."
Far a moment he stared at her, then said abruptly, "I'm
having a little party for you tomorrow night."
Whitney felt a glow of warmth tingle through her that
remained even when he irritably corrected: "Actually, it's not a little
party, it's a damned circus with every Tom, Dick and Harry for miles around
coming-an orchestra, and dancing, and all that rubbish!"
"It sounds . . . wonderful," Whitney managed to say,
keeping her laughing eyes downcast.
"Emily is coming from London with her new husband.
Everybody is coming."
His shifts of mood were so unpredictable that Whitney
stopped trying to converse with him, and the rest of the meal progressed in
wary silence. Not until dessert was nearly finished did he break the
silence, and then his voice was so unnaturally loud that Whitney started.
"We have a new neighbor," he almost boomed, then checked himself, cleared
his throat, and spoke more naturally. "He'll be coming to your party too, I
want you to meet him. Good-looking chap--a bachelor. Excellent man with a
horse. Saw him out riding the other day."
Understanding dawned, and Whitney burst out laughing.
"Oh Papa," she said, shaking her long, shining hair, "you don't have to
start matchmaking-I'm not quite at my last prayers yet." Judging from his
expression, her father didn't share her humor in the matter, so Whitney
tried to look dutifully solemn as she asked the name of their new neighbor.
"Clayton Westmor . . . Clayton Westland."
Lady Anne's spoon clattered to her plate and onto the
table. She gazed with narrowed eyes at Martin Stone, who glared at her in
return while his face turned a suspicious red.
After considering her father's stormy countenance,
Whitney decided to rescue her aunt from his trying moods. Putting down her
own spoon, she stood up. "I think Aunt Anne and I would both like to retire
early after our journey, Father."
To her surprise, Lady Anne shook her head. "I would like
to spend a few minutes with your father, dear. You go ahead."
"Yes," Martin echoed instantly. "Run along to bed, and
your aunt and I will have a friendly chat."
When Whitney left, Martin curtly dismissed the footmen,
then regarded Anne with a mixture of caution and annoyance. "You reacted
very queerly to the mention of our neighbor's name, Madam."
Lady Anne inclined her head, watching him intently.
"Whether or not my reaction was 'queer'
Whitney nodded, and he added, "She'd been out three seasons, and her father
told me he'd all but despaired of ever seeing her suitably married. Now the
match is the talk of the whole damn countryside!" His gaze levelled
accusingly on Lady Anne, rebuking her for having failed to see Whitney
suitably married.
Lady Anne stiffened and Whitney hastily tried to
interject a teasing note into her voice. "Surely you haven't despaired of
seeing me suitably married?" "Yes," he said bluntly. "I had." Pride demanded
that Whitney tell him of the dozen splendid offers Uncle Edward had received
for her hand; reason warned that her father would react violently to the
discovery that, without consulting him, Uncle Edward had rejected those
offers. Why was her father so cold and unapproachable? Whitney wondered
unhappily. Could she ever hope to bridge the gulf between them? Putting her
cup down, she gave him a warm, conspiratorial smile and said lightly, "If it
would lessen your mortification at having an unwed daughter already out four
seasons, Aunt Anne and I could have it whispered about that I declined
offers from two baronets, an earl, a duke, and a prince!"
"Is this true, Madam?" he snapped at Aunt Anne. "Why
wasn't I informed of these offers?"
"Of course, it isn't true," Whitney interceded, trying
to keep the smile pasted on her face. "I've met only one real duke and one
imposter-and I detested them both equally. I did meet a Russian prince, but
he was already spoken for by the princess, and I doubt she'd give him up so
that I could outdo Emily."
Far a moment he stared at her, then said abruptly, "I'm
having a little party for you tomorrow night."
Whitney felt a glow of warmth tingle through her that
remained even when he irritably corrected: "Actually, it's not a little
party, it's a damned circus with every Tom, Dick and Harry for miles around
coming-an orchestra, and dancing, and all that rubbish!"
"It sounds . . . wonderful," Whitney managed to say,
keeping her laughing eyes downcast.
"Emily is coming from London with her new husband.
Everybody is coming."
His shifts of mood were so unpredictable that Whitney
stopped trying to converse with him, and the rest of the meal progressed in
wary silence. Not until dessert was nearly finished did he break the
silence, and then his voice was so unnaturally loud that Whitney started.
"We have a new neighbor," he almost boomed, then checked himself, cleared
his throat, and spoke more naturally. "He'll be coming to your party too, I
want you to meet him. Good-looking chap--a bachelor. Excellent man with a
horse. Saw him out riding the other day."
Understanding dawned, and Whitney burst out laughing.
"Oh Papa," she said, shaking her long, shining hair, "you don't have to
start matchmaking-I'm not quite at my last prayers yet." Judging from his
expression, her father didn't share her humor in the matter, so Whitney
tried to look dutifully solemn as she asked the name of their new neighbor.
"Clayton Westmor . . . Clayton Westland."
Lady Anne's spoon clattered to her plate and onto the
table. She gazed with narrowed eyes at Martin Stone, who glared at her in
return while his face turned a suspicious red.
After considering her father's stormy countenance,
Whitney decided to rescue her aunt from his trying moods. Putting down her
own spoon, she stood up. "I think Aunt Anne and I would both like to retire
early after our journey, Father."
To her surprise, Lady Anne shook her head. "I would like
to spend a few minutes with your father, dear. You go ahead."
"Yes," Martin echoed instantly. "Run along to bed, and
your aunt and I will have a friendly chat."
When Whitney left, Martin curtly dismissed the footmen,
then regarded Anne with a mixture of caution and annoyance. "You reacted
very queerly to the mention of our neighbor's name, Madam."
Lady Anne inclined her head, watching him intently.
"Whether or not my reaction was 'queer'
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