Practical Heart by Fiona Hill

Author:Fiona Hill
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781626814721
Publisher: Diversion Books
Published: 2014-11-03T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter VIII

Thomas Grouse was a patient man, but there are limits to all things. He arrived at The Haven thinking something very much like this, and demanded to see the Viscount. It was above a month since he and his daughter had been invited to dine with Sherbourne and his family. In the interim, Valerian had called twice upon Miss Grouse—once to take her driving in the Park, and once to beg her to join his family party at the Opera, an invitation she had declined, saying she was otherwise engaged. Her father had watched these developments and questioned his daughter closely on the Viscount’s behaviour, but she had refused to say anything more than that he was uniformly gentlemanly and seemed quite amiable.

“You’ve no wish to be a viscountess, then?” he said. “A thousand other girls would give their eyeteeth to be.”

“I am sure they would, Papa.”

“But you ain’t like other girls, are you, Miss?”

“No, I suppose I am not,” she agreed, sighing. It was an observation he had made many times before, and he did not mean it to be a compliment.

So Mr. Grouse judged it time to take the bull by the horns, and he approached Valerian frankly. “You owe me a sum of money, sir,” he said, his pudgy index finger poking fatly through the delicate handle of a Sève teacup. He peered accusingly at his host. “I’m not a man as likes to wait,” he said, “and I have been kept waiting.”

“How is your daughter?” Valerian hazarded desperately.

“Well enough,” he replied, refusing to be sidetracked. “Now, you’ve a mighty fine house here, my Lord—”

“She is a most delightful young lady,” Sherbourne persisted with dogged despair. “Truly, I do enjoy her company no end!”

“A mighty queer gal, if you ask me,” said her father, giving in for a moment. “Still, I thought for awhile there you had taken a fancy to her.”

“O, I had!” cried Valerian. “I had, indeed! Did, and do, sir. A—an extraordinary girl, as you say.”

Mr. Grouse surveyed him suspiciously. “If you do have a fancy to her,” he said at last, “you’re the first man who does.”

“O, I cannot credit that!” the Viscount exclaimed with nervous enthusiasm. “I cannot believe but that she has dozens of swains.”

Mr. Grouse was silent for a moment, consulting deep within himself. “Sherbourne,” he commenced at last, “let us have some pound dealing here. Now, you say you like my daughter. I say you owe me some money.” He paused to flash his wicked grin. “I know it ain’t the way of the gentry to lay their cards on the table, as you might say, but this tomfoolery has gone on long enough. If you like my daughter well enough to marry her, sir, I think we may come to some kind of settlement about your debt to me.”

The Viscount felt a twinge of terror.

“Now, I know this idea may be new to you, sir, and no doubt you’d like some time to think it over. I’m not averse to that, my Lord.

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