Page 17 of Vying for a Viscount
Someday, if she ever had another child and it were a girl, she could make pinafores embroidered with all sorts of pretty, colorful flowers to wear over her dresses. If only, she sighed.
The day dragged on, as many did. She took luncheon in the nursery with Simon. Then she curled up on the chaise longue in her room and read a book of poetry for a spell. Just in case Greyson came for afternoon tea, she dressed in a lovely blue day dress and made her way to the green drawing room, where she greeted visitors.
She’d just about given up hope when a footman entered the room and announced, “Viscount Greyson.”
All the air whooshed from her lungs at the sight of him in brown-and-tan riding clothes. He removed his hat and gloves, placing them, along with his riding crop, on one of the two chairs facing the settee, then turned to her and bowed, appearing a little out of breath. “Lady Rutherford. Forgive me for arriving late for tea, but it couldn’t be helped.”
“No need to apologize. Please sit.”
“Thank you,” he said, sitting in the comfortable upholstered chair facing her.
“Would you care for tea?”
He chuckled, and it was nice to see his guard down, his humor radiating from his eyes. “Thank you, but I must decline.” He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “You see, I’ve just had tea at my house with Hunter and the Earl of Warren. I’ve drunk enough tea for a week. But thank you, anyway.”
“So that is why you are past teatime?”
“Once again, forgive me. I nearly had to throw Hunter and Warren out. I mounted my horse and rode like the devil to get here.”
“You never have to stick to proper visiting hours with me. You may drop by anytime. And,” she said, motioning with her arm toward the vase of roses, “the roses are beautiful. Thank you for thinking of me.” She’d had Jane move them again from the family drawing room to the public one.
“Whether you wish to believe me or not, I think of you often.”
Heat suffused her cheeks. “As I do you.”
“Forgive me if I hurt you in any way.”
Just her heart and her pride. Which, of course, she would never admit. Instead, she redirected the conversation to something Anastasia had said that had been puzzling her. “May I ask a personal question?”
“You may ask, but I may defer answering.”
“I suppose I have two questions. Before I ask the second question, I want to know if you plan to court me. Sending flowers and calling on me would lead me to believe you do. However, with you, I can never be sure what you are thinking or planning.” There. She asked the first question. A perfectly logical one, as far as she was concerned.
“I would like to court you, but you need to understand that I have other obligations. I wouldn’t want to make you feel neglected, as you did in the past few months. Can you accept my life as it is now? I won’tbe as attentive as some suitors.”
“I understand better now than before, which leads to my second question. Anastasia recently said something in passing—please don’t be angry at her for mentioning it—that you disappear occasionally, sometimes for days or even a sennight at a time.” For one brief moment, he looked angry, then it was gone. “I only ask because Rutherford kept things from me. He led me to believe he spent his days at his club and even some nights, but it was all a lie.” She paused and inhaled, gathering the courage to continue. “If you disappear because you are hiding a mistress, then I will not be courted by you.”
His expression softened. “I can promise you I have no mistress or bastards, nor do I plan to.” He cleared his throat. “Honestly, when would I find the time? As for my leaving from time to time, it’s so I can escape and have time alone to keep my sanity or to take care of estate business.”
She now felt terrible for asking. “Thank you for being honest with me.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Yes. And I’ll answer if I can.”
Chuckling, he said, “Fair enough. I understand you married Rutherford before you came out.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Did you love him?”
Oh dear, that was a complicated question that made her insides ache. “Yes. I loved him as a naïve eighteen-year-old would, and I continued to love him until he died. After he died, when I saw other couples in love, I realized my marriage wasn’t anything like theirs. And when I watch Emmeline and Lilly with their husbands, I realize what Rutherford and I shared was a comfortable, almost companionable love, not the passionate love I witness among my friends.” She had asked for honesty from him; she could give him no less.
“I see.”
“Have you ever been in love, Greyson?”
She could see she’d shocked him with her question because he wasn’t quick enough to school his emotions.
