A mere hour later, she moved with determined steps to the parlor.
“I urge you to give him a fair hearing, my dear,” her aunt murmured.
Payton cast a glance down the dimly lit corridor, hoping she could stumble and sprain her ankle, saving her from the conversation about to happen. “Do you know what he wishes to speak of, Aunt?”
Aunt Florence clasped Payton’s arm and gave her an encouraging smile. “I have some idea.”
Denial surged inside Payton. It was Aunt Florence’s shoulder she had cried on so piteously when he’d distanced himself without even a letter. Why had she expected her aunt to be loyal? “Aunt, I cannot—”
“Give him a chance, my dear. At least listen to what he has to say with an open heart. And know your father has already given his blessing.”
With a gentle squeeze of her hand, Aunt Florence stepped back. Nervous energy coursed through Payton, and she took a calm breath, opened the door to the parlor, and sauntered in as if she had not a care in the world. A soft snick sounded, and she faltered. Her aunt had closed the door and left her alone with the dratted man.
Since being jilted she’d received several propositions, from amusing to really vulgar, with which she had dealt with cool aplomb. Yet to see Lord Jensen in the parlor waiting for her with an air of confident expectation had sweat breaking on her brow. “Lord Jensen, this is a charming surprise.” The lie soured on her tongue, but she would be pleasant and ladylike, and would be as firm as possible in denying his request for reacquaintance without being abrasive. “Why have you requested an audience?”
“Payton—”
“Miss Peppiwell,” she said with a tight smile.
“There was a time you allowed me more than simply calling you by your given name,” he insinuated softly.
Her heart lurched. “And there was a time I thought you a gentleman with honor who was worth according such liberties. Alas, we must learn to live with disappointment.” Three kisses. And she was glad she had not allowed more despite his gentle persuasions.
A look of discomfort flashed across his face. “This is why I wish to speak with you so urgently.”
He had the gall to pat a section of the sofa beside him.
She moved across the room and sat on the chaise farthest away from him. Annoyance shafted through her when he launched to his feet and rushed to her side, kneeling down, gripping her hands. Good lord.
“I admire you most ardently,” Lord Jensen said with an earnestness that would have charmed her several months ago. “I have been foolish, Pay—Miss Peppiwell—and I beg your forgiveness. Nothing would make me happier than if you would consent to be my wife.”
Lord Jensen did not admire her. How could he even think she would believe such a thing possible after his atrocious behavior?
Please do not let their ears be pressed to the door. Payton would not be able to endure the anger of her mother and her Aunt Florence at such an early hour. She stood and, with deliberate steps, she walked to the door and opened it.
Thank heavens.
After ensuring her aunt had not lingered in the hall, Payton returned to the parlor. She smiled gently and regretted it immediately. The look of anxiety in his eyes dispelled, when she had only smiled in hopes of lessening the sting of her rejection. “Please, my lord, stand.”
He stood and sat beside her on the chaise, clasping her fingers. Payton withdrew her hand, uncaring that she might offend him.
She searched for polite words to decline his offer. “Your offer is indeed generous, and I thank you for making it, but I cannot marry you. Please believe me when I say I take no pleasure in causing you discomfort.”
“I love you, and from our many walks I believe you return my heartfelt affections.”
She found him singularly lacking. “While I appreciate your sentiments and the courage it must have taken for you to declare yourself, I do not return your heartfelt affections.”
“What?” He looked genuinely bewildered and hurt. “I love you, Payton.”
She searched for the spark of interest, that sweet feeling of delight, and only felt regret for lost time and a possible friendship. “Forgive me for causing you pain. It is not my intention. But I hold no such affections for you, and I cannot marry you, Lord Jensen.”
It seemed as if her words finally penetrated, because he froze, and the utter shock that filled his eyes had tension shifting through her.
“I do not think you understand,” he said, lips tightening, all affable charm vanishing. “I am offering to make you my future viscountess, despite your lack of recommendations.”
She stiffened, knowing what was about to come. The reminder of her supposed inferior circumstances. “I have given you my answer, my lord.”