The Restless Viscountess

Chapter 11

“Vanity and pride are different things, though the words are often used synonymously. A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.” Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

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Chapter Eleven

“Your sister seems very pleased,” murmured Simon to Imogen.

They had left the settee to allow Elena’s mother and sister time with the newly christened twins. Little Elin was not forgotten. She was currently being smothered in affection by Bess.

Simon had collected Imogen’s teacup for her and they had moved to the side of the drawing room, away from potential eavesdroppers. He could see small tremors running down her arms as she held the teacup, the tremors rattling the china quietly.

Simon could not fathom the respect he had for Imogen. Not only did he fancy her, he respected her beyond anything. Even when she was exhausted, like she clearly was, she was not about to give up. His arms were empty and strong. If she fainted, he would catch her.

But he did truly fancy her. The longer he looked at her, the longer he was in her presence, the more he liked her. She was beautiful and lovely and elegant and delicate. She was everything a sane man would want in a wife.

Imogen looked over to her sister who was still happily playing the pianoforte. She smiled wistfully and nodded. “Indeed, she is, Colonel,” she replied.

Simon glanced over at Joaquín. He had caught the King looking over at Alexandra in that moment. He looked utterly cheerful himself. Joaquín and Alexandra seemed to look at one another every thirty seconds or so.

“As does the King,” he continued.

“Many young men will be heartbroken now,” Imogen said, looking up at Simon.

“Why?” he asked.

Imogen blushed. Simon thought her embarrassment was endearing. “Is it not obvious, Colonel? Allie has many admirers.”

It was obvious as to what Imogen was hinting at. Her pretty sister being unavailable would disappoint many potential suitors. “And what of you?” he asked before even thinking. He immediately chastised himself. It had been years since he had so candidly spoken with a woman. It had been years since he had been interested in a woman. Well, he supposed that was a lie. He was a man, after all, but a terribly disfigured one. It had been years since he had had the courage to speak to a woman that he fancied.

“What about me?” asked Imogen.

Simon panicked, saying the first thing that popped into his mind. “Is it not your turn to select an admirer?”

He internally groaned. That was the last thing that he wanted to say. He did not want to encourage admirers. Had the difficulty of conversing with women quadrupled since he had last tried it? Once upon a time he had but to merely smile at a woman and she would go weak at the knees. That was how it had been with Helen.

“Oh, Colonel,” mumbled Imogen bashfully, “my pool of admirers is considerably smaller than Allie’s. Gentlemen in our acquaintance desire a wealthy, healthy bride, Colonel. I may be the former, but I am certainly not the latter.”

Simon frowned. Sometimes … a lot of the time, he found the ton so insufferable, so pathetically preoccupied with securing the perfect specimen that they threw away diamonds in the rough. Imogen was certainly a diamond in the rough. In the short time that he had known her, she had gone from being practically bed ridden, to being able to stand all day.