Chapter 4

The entrance-way of the modest-looking house was surprisingly stylish and well-maintained, with marbled tiles on the floor and a sweeping staircase. The butler, who answered the door, was neatly outfitted and the arrival of two people a little younger than Papa—presumably, the parents of the girl he was intended to meet—was well-timed.

Sebastian sketched a bow as the older man introduced himself.

"Good afternoon, Lord Glenfield," he murmured. He was a good-looking man with wise dark eyes and a head of brown hair starting to get white, shorter than Sebastian. His smile seemed genuine. "May I introduce my wife, Mrs. Harriet Montague, and my son, Jonathan Montague. My daughter is still in her chamber." He bowed, seeming unapologetic for his daughter's absence, which was, Sebastian thought, only proper.

"Good afternoon," Sebastian replied, bowing first to the lady, who had thick hair too, a color somewhere between honey-blonde and brown, and green eyes. "Good afternoon," he added to the man's son, who was tall and slim, with his mother's brown hair and his father's eyes and an extremely uncomfortable posture. He was clearly deeply upset for his part in the endeavor, and that made Sebastian stiffen.

My father obliged these people through saving this man from Heaven knows what fate. Am I so awful, that people must be forced to my acquaintance?

He tensed his spine. This entire arrangement was wrong, and he would not be forced to make a pious and homely girl suffer what would, to her, be a horrible fate.

He had to speak to his father to change his mind on this.

"Shall we go up to the drawing-room?" Mrs. Montague was saying, interrupting his gloomy thoughts.

"Yes. Yes," Sebastian murmured. He walked briskly to the stairs, trying not to go faster than his hosts. He found he was impatient.

I'm not impatient about meeting her, he told himself firmly. Just about doing this as swiftly as possible.

It wasn't possible that he was actually excited, that something about his father's story and this strange, proper family had grabbed his interest. Absolutely not.

He smiled to himself as they reached the top of the stairs. His heart was pounding just a little faster than normal, his hands damp. He looked sharply to his right, where a young woman stood.

"Ah! Eleanor! Come here. This is Sebastian Thornton, the Earl of Glenfield." He turned to Sebastian. "My lord, allow me to introduce my daughter, Eleanor Montague."

The woman stared at him. Sebastian stared at her.

With a squarish face, wide-set eyes, a thin nose and a full-lipped mouth, she was pretty. It was a strong face, a serious face, but undeniably also pretty. Her hair was the same glossy brown as her mother's, arranged in ringlets about her face, and her eyes were likewise green. Wide, framed with long lashes, they stared up at him confusedly.

"Good afternoon," he murmured, and bowed. He cleared his throat, finding that it was a little tight.

"Good afternoon, my lord." The woman curtseyed and her gaze moved to the floor. He found himself feeling strange as her eyes slid from his own—a little bereft, as if the contact had appealed to him.

He turned away, annoyed at himself.

This woman has been forced into this, he thought. And besides she's probably dull-witted and boring, anyway.

Sebastian drew in a breath. He would have to see. He'd promised his father to meet her, and that was all he'd promised.

He followed the family into the drawing room.

Sebastian glanced around briefly. It was an ordinary drawing-room, a little cozier seeming than the one at Ramsgate house, with chintz covered wingback chairs by the fireplace, a marble mantelpiece on which a few Chinese vases were displayed, and a wooden table in the other corner, six spindle-legged chairs arranged at it. There were paintings on the walls and the curtains were green velvet. It was all surprisingly tasteful and rather opulent, smaller but in other ways no less than any other home he'd been in.

"Please, take a seat, my lord," Mr. Montague invited him warmly. "I regret that Jonathan and I cannot stay long—I must urgently travel to London on business, and my son will accompany me. But I trust you will be well cared for by my dear wife and lovely daughter." He smiled at Sebastian. Sebastian nodded.

"I am sure, sir," he managed. He glanced over at the older woman, who looked tense, her smile bright and forced.

"Would you like some tea, my lord?" she asked politely.

"Please," Sebastian said sincerely. His eyes were dry from the warm day, his head pounding from lack of water.

Mrs. Montague poured him some tea and he sipped it gratefully. She poured for the other guests and Sebastian glanced sideways at Miss Montague. She was sitting between her parents, looking down at the table. She had so far said nothing, outside of greeting him, and Sebastian wished she would look up. He had barely had a chance to get an impression of her.

"A good day for riding, eh?" Mr. Montague said cheerily. "You ride, my lord?"

"I do," Sebastian answered a little uncomfortably. He was one of the better riders in his circles, and his enjoyment of the sport was well known in the Ton .

"Fine! Fine." Mr. Montague exclaimed. "Well, it's only an hour to London. I suppose I should ride. But the coach is much more comfortable. Eh, Jonathan?"

Jonathan shot his father a look and Sebastian wanted to smile. He didn't like the fellow overmuch, if first impressions were accurate reflections of a person; but he could have some sympathy. If his father had shot him such an uncomfortable question in unknown company, he would have felt the same way. He glanced at the man, guessing him to be perhaps six years his junior.

"I confess, I prefer to take the coach to London," Sebastian said in reply. "The road is not the best for riding."

"Quite so." Mr. Montague looked at the clock. "Well, Jonathan, I suppose we ought to depart, eh? I will let you get on with your tea, my lord." He smiled at Sebastian, who stood as the two other men exited the room. He shook their hands, and then sat down, feeling extremely awkward, at the table with the two ladies.

"So," he said, clearing his throat nervously, aware of two green-eyed gazes affixed on him. "I wonder if you are both fond of walks in the countryside?"

It was the only topic of conversation that came to him, and he grimaced. It was a rather banal thing to say, but better, surely, than sitting around staring at one another, each waiting for the other to get the conversation started.

Miss Montague said nothing, but remained staring at her hands, her eyes demurely downcast. Her mother favored him with a warm look.

"I am very fond of walking, Lord Glenfield, as is my daughter. Are you not, my dear?" she asked, turning to Miss Montague. The young lady looked up, focusing on her mother and not even glancing at him.

"Yes, Mama. I am."

Her gaze moved to her hands again.

Sebastian bit his lip. Such intense shyness was something he'd never been faced with before, and he had no idea what to do. Most of the women in his circles were bold and without inhibitions. It made life much easier all round, since he didn't have to be the one to think of anything.

"So," he began again, uncomfortable. "I suppose you must walk a lot in the countryside. The estate must have many paths and tracks for walking, not so?" He looked at Miss Montague with an inquiring stare.

She glanced up at him, briefly, then her gaze shot back to the table.

"Yes," she answered.

Beside her, her mother gave a soft laugh. "We do have many walking trails. Think you that Lord Glenfield would enjoy riding on our estate?" She asked her daughter. Her daughter blinked, frowning.

"I do not know. Mayhap, Mama."

Sebastian tried not to stare in surprise as she stopped talking and the drawing room was again uncomfortably silent. She had barely even looked at him and she clearly had no interest in talking, even when prompted. Mrs. Montague smiled.

"I do wonder where that tea has got to. If you excuse me, I will go and ask Mrs. Mayhew if she has everything in readiness for us."

She stood and went to the door. Sebastian stood politely—it would be extremely rude to sit when a lady was standing. Then, as he sank back into his chair again, he drew a deep breath. He was here with Miss Montague, entirely alone.

He glanced at her, feeling his brow crease nervously.

"Um..." he began awkwardly. He felt the need to say something—he'd never been able to bear long silences, even though he'd already learned by now that talking to her was not exactly simple. "I wonder if you paint, or draw?"

"I do both, but not very well," Miss Montague replied at once. Her gaze on his was green, frank and unabashed. He tensed, but this time with astonishment.

"Oh," he said, feeling himself flush. It was good to have her talk to him. "I am sure you're too modest, Miss Montague." He smiled at her encouragingly, like he might with a shy child.

"No," she said directly. "I'm not. I really am not very good at drawing, or painting. I suppose that is a necessary accomplishment for noblewomen. Including for countesses?" Her stare was direct and inquiring.

"What? No," Sebastian said at once, his frown descending. "No. Why would you say that?" He stared at her in confusion. Why would anyone assume that a countess would have to have any kind of artistic ability at all? Nobody in his family, as far as he knew, had ever been an exceptional artist.

"Because I'm not suitable to be a countess," Miss Montague said at once, the words pouring out as if she'd saved them up for the last twenty minutes. "I'm not good at painting, or playing the pianoforte, or any particular accomplishment. I can dance, after a fashion, but I don't embroider very well, or sing, or do anything that might seem suitable. I'd be a terrible countess. You can't expect it of me. You can't."

Sebastian gaped at her in surprise. From being utterly silent and shy, she'd gone to being bold and direct to the point of telling him off. That barely seemed possible.

"I believe that what I can and cannot do, Miss Montague, is up to me," Sebastian answered before he could stop himself. He had never been good at being challenged.

"No," Miss Montague replied at once. "No, in this case, it isn't. You have to stop this. I'd ruin you. I'll be terrible—I'll never give you a moment's peace, gossiping and being indiscreet and causing trouble among the Ton . I'll be the worst countess ever. You have to believe it. You have to."

Sebastian frowned. "I think, Miss Montague," he said slowly, "that you have little idea of what is expected of a countess. Therefore, I think you cannot know how well or poorly you might fill the role suggested." He sounded colder than he felt. In truth, he was interested. She had been so quiet, so polite, in front of her mother, and now, when Mrs. Montague was out of the room for a few minutes, she turned into a different person, a lively, bold woman who feared him not in the slightest. In itself, that was refreshing. He'd rather that than an uncertain, insincere socialite.

"I wouldn't be so sure," she replied instantly. "Indeed, one must have some knowledge of a profession before deeming it unsuitable for oneself. I am not well-versed in the ways of an acrobat, but I am almost certain it is not my vocation."

Sebastian chuckled in spite of himself. "No, Miss Montague. I would rather hope not."

She blushed red, and he smiled. She was interesting. She had a fast mind, and a witty streak. She was not uninteresting at all. He had thought, just a few minutes ago, that she was shy and difficult and that he'd have no way of getting to know her, even a little, but now she showed herself to be entirely different.

He liked her.

"No. Perhaps that is not the best example."

He roared with laughter at her answer and was still laughing when they heard footsteps in the hallway.

"You need to decide to tell your father you can't do this," Miss Montague hissed at him, just as her mother appeared.

He looked at Mrs. Montague, who walked in, a small smile on her face, though whether she was just trying to cover up being nervous, or whether she was actually smiling, he was uncertain. Opposite him, Miss Montague fixed him with an angry, insistent green stare.

"Mrs. Montague," Sebastian said, feeling a small smile play at the corners of his mouth. "I must say I am wholly enchanted with your daughter. If I may, I would like to invite her to my estate as soon as possible so that my father can approve our union."

He looked over at Miss Montague, whose gaze was pure indignation. He hid a smile. He had, after all, won the first battle, and now he looked forward to many more. One thing she was certainly not, was insipid, and that was all that mattered besides carrying out Papa's request.