Candice Hern (19 page)

Augusta offered her hand stiffly, and Robert took it to his lips. He assumed Ted would relinquish his place on that wretched couch. It was only natural that Robert be allowed to sit next to his future bride. But Ted did not make a move to leave and in fact continued his conversation with Augusta after only the briefest acknowledgment of his cousin. Marquess or no, thought Robert, the man simply did not know how to go about in Society.

Robert opted to stand, having a horror of collapsing one of the cross-legged stools, and took a place somewhat behind Augusta where he entered into a polite conversation with an elderly dowager of his acquaintance. When Ted finally rose to take his leave, Robert was astonished and, truth be told, somewhat discomfited to see his cousin take Augusta's hand in both his own and gaze at her with the beseeching eyes of a hound dog. He really must have a talk with Aunt Doro.

Robert excused himself from the dowager and claimed the place vacated by his cousin.

"Augusta," he said in that seductive tone he had mastered to perfection through the years, "I wish to apologize for last evening. I know that—"

"Please, my lord," Augusta interrupted with a wave of her hand, "do not concern yourself. Your cousin, Lord Haselmere, was kind enough to take your set. Unfortunately I was unable to substitute another set for you as Mother and I were promised at Lady Musgrave's. I was sure you would understand. Oh, and thank you for the roses. So extravagant, my lord," she said, slapping his arm playfully.

Robert stayed for the requisite thirty minutes, listening to Augusta prattle on about nothing in particular, and took his leave. The sapphire brooch remained in his pocket.

* * *

Meanwhile, the morning room at Bradleigh House, more sedately furnished in polished mahogany and rose silk damask, was crowded with afternoon visitors come to pay respects to the dowager. Against her better judgment, Emily had been convinced to take a seat directly next to her employer, rather than hang along the wall or in a far corner as was her usual practice.

"Mark my words, my girl," the dowager had said, clasping Emily firmly by the arm and steering her to a chair in the center of the room, "many an interfering old tabby will attempt to find out what happened between you and Lord Pentwick last night. Most, thank goodness, know little more than that he somehow insulted you and that Robert squelched the entire incident with a proper setdown. But you can be sure that the curious, on the scent of potential gossip, will be trying to entice the full tale out of one of us."

The dowager arranged herself on a sofa and coaxed Charlemagne onto her lap. He sat up and playfully licked at her face, and in return she nuzzled his nose with her own, cooing French endearments. Emily regarded her employer with affection. The sight of that long, powdered aristocratic nose rubbing up against the tiny black pug nose brought a smile to Emily's lips. Watching her play with Charlemagne, the often blunt, sometimes sharp-tongued, and almost always arrogant old woman appeared positively girlish. But when she looked back up at Emily, the usual steely determination was once again in evidence.

"You must stick by my side, my dear," she said, "and let me direct the conversation. Not that I don't trust you, you understand. It's just that you have no experience with Society's vultures, who can take the tiniest morsel of information and turn it into a juicy tidbit. Leave everything to me, my girl."

Emily had been glad to do so. In fact, the dowager could not have more accurately predicted the direction the afternoon would take than if she had used a gypsy's crystal ball. The interrogation began with the first visitor and continued almost to the last.

"Ah, Miss Townsend. Wasn't that Lord Pentwick I saw you speaking with last night?"

"My dear Miss Townsend, whatever did Lord Bradleigh say to Lord Pentwick before he whisked you off onto the dance floor?"

"Miss Townsend, you simply must tell us what Lord Pentwick said to you."

"Everyone knows, my dear, that Bradleigh does not offer such a setdown lightly. What on earth prompted him?"

"You may be unaware, Miss Townsend, that Pentwick's considered something of a bounder. How is it that he came to be speaking to you in the first place?"

It was marvelous to observe how deftly the dowager was able to deflect all such inquiries toward some completely unrelated topic without providing any information at all, and yet without seeming the least rude. There was help from an unexpected quarter as well. Lord Sedgewick arrived midway through the afternoon and remained attentive to Emily throughout his short visit. Even before his departure the attitudes of many of the other callers had warmed, and most ceased their insistent probing altogether. As she watched him leave, the dowager leaned over and put her lips near Emily's ear as she appeared to be reaching for the teapot.

"Good man, Sedgewick," she whispered. "He is well-regarded among the
ton
. His attentions will not go unnoticed."

His attentions were not unnoticed by Emily, either. Before his departure he had solicited a promise to drive with him in the park later in the week. Emily was feeling quite flushed by everyone's attention, but most especially Lord Sedgewick's. It was an entirely new experience to her, with the small exception of last evening's debacle, to be the focus of
anyone'
s attention. Though the sort of fascination she held for most of today's visitors caused her nothing but mortification, Lord Sedgewick's regard was most pleasurable.

She wondered if the rest of her stay in London would go on as it had begun. Heavens, but that was a daunting thought. How would she be able to endure her own increasing popularity? she thought with a faint smile.

Finally all of the guests save one had departed. Lady Dunholm was a particular friend of the dowager's and made no pretense of adhering to the socially correct half-hour visit. She had waited for the other guests to leave with the specific intent of having a comfortable and private coze with her good friend. The two ladies were already chattering amicably, delightedly ripping to shreds most of the afternoon's guests, when Emily rose to leave. The morning room door was opened at that moment by Claypool, who carried a card on a silver tray.

"Blast!" the dowager exclaimed. "I thought we were through with visitors." She reached out her hand to take the card, but Claypool did not offer the tray.

"I beg your pardon, my lady," he said, "but the gentleman asked that I give this to Miss Townsend."

Emily cast a questioning look at her employer.

"Go ahead, my dear." The dowager laughed. "It is probably another admirer. What with Hamilton's flowers and Sedgewick's attentions, I believe you will have to get used to it."

Emily felt herself flush, but took the card. All at once her heart dropped to her toes.

Hugh, Viscount Faversham
, it read.

"I believe the gentleman has written a note on the back," Claypool said calmly, obviously unaware that Emily had lost the ability to breathe.

Emily turned over the card.

I beg you to admit me, Cousin.

I am devastated over my father's behavior last night.

Please allow me to explain.

"Oh, God," Emily whispered as her hand clutched at the ruffed collar of her white cambric chemisette.

"What is it, my dear?" the dowager asked with obvious concern. She had risen to place her hand on Emily's arm. Emily handed her the card. The dowager read it, and Emily watched as the old woman's brows disappeared beneath steel-gray curls peeking out from under the Mechlin lace cap.

"Egad, but the fellow has cheek."

Emily was shocked by the hint of amusement in the old woman's voice. Her face must have registered her distress, for the dowager turned and took her by the hand.

"I say we should admit him," the dowager said. "I confess that I am agog with curiosity to hear what the fellow has to say. This should be most interesting. Oh, don't look so stunned, my girl. Perhaps he's genuinely contrite."

Emily gave an unladylike snort.

"Well, perhaps not," the dowager said. "But I think it behooves you to give the fellow his five minutes. Remember, my dear, that you escaped his father's attempt to disgrace you with all your dignity intact. You are the one in the more advantageous position. Besides, Claypool will be standing by ready to throw the jackanapes out if he so much as steps one foot wrong. Oh, and don't worry about Dolly," she said, tilting her head toward Lady Dunholm. "She'll be as silent as an oyster, won't you, dear?"

Lady Dunholm nodded, and the dowager joined her once again on the sofa.

"All right," Emily said, though she was not feeling at all sure about this. "Send him in, Claypool."

"She's got spirit, Fanny, I'll grant you that," Lady Dunholm whispered.

Emily overheard that remark and hoped it was true as she watched the morning room door with more than a little trepidation. Claypool returned shortly and announced her cousin. He stood looking at her for the briefest moment before entering the room. Emily had been so distraught the night before that she had little recollection of him. She saw now before her a man of medium height and slender build, with blond hair much the same color as her own. She would guess him to be no more than thirty years old. He might have been handsome but for the deep lines etched between his nose and mouth and the hint of dissipation about his gray eyes.

He smiled as he approached, holding out his hand, but the smile was flat and empty and did not reach his eyes. Emily had seen many such condescending smiles in her years of service and was not affected by its insincerity. She arranged her own expression to one of cool disdain.

"My dear Miss Townsend," he said in an unctuous tone that caused Emily to wrinkle her nose in distaste before quickly remembering to school her features.

She was reminded of a particularly persistent sales clerk at a perfumery in Bath who had always tried to force Pear's Almond Bloom on her, though she had repeatedly expressed no interest in it. She wondered what this gentleman was selling.

"Cousin," he said as he held out his hand to receive hers.

Politeness was deeply bred in Emily, and she knew she had to acknowledge him. She tilted her chin up, fixed him with an arctic gaze, and offered two fingers.

"Lord Faversham," she said in the chilliest tone she could muster.

A low growl was heard from the direction of the sofa. Emily wasn't sure how the dowager was able to coax the tiny pug into baring his teeth and snarling on cue, but she had seen it often enough to know that Charlemagne had been trained to react so. The trick came in handy when one wished to be rid of an unwanted guest. Emily saw Lord Faversham glance at the dowager and Lady Dunholm, both wearing their best scowls, and watched as the smile slid from his face. He swallowed hard and turned to face those ladies.

"Lady Bradleigh, Lady Dunholm," he said, executing a sharp bow. "Your servant."

He turned back to Emily, who was still standing, and made a slight move with his hand as if to ask her to be seated, but seemed to think better of it. He grasped his hands behind his back and stood looking at her expectantly. She decided to make him sweat—it must be the dowager's subversive influence, she thought, as she found herself truly enjoying his discomfort—and glared at him for several heartbeats before she leisurely glided to the chair she had recently vacated and slowly eased herself into it. She carefully smoothed the skirts of her sprigged muslin day dress, straightened the lace at her cuffs, and finally looked up at him.

"I have only a few moments to spare, Lord Faversham," Emily said, "as I have an appointment this afternoon." It was true that she did have an appointment and was glad not to have been forced into a complete falsehood. Mr. Hamilton was coming to take her for a drive in the park, but not for another two and a half hours. "Please say what you've come to say and be brief about it."

His expression slowly altered to one of forlorn hope as he took a chair near hers and leaned anxiously forward. "My dear cousin," he said in a quiet voice, "I have come for one reason only. To assure you that I stand as your friend despite anything my father may have said last night. Believe me when I tell you that I could not have been more distressed at my father's behavior. I had thought he only meant to make himself known to you, and I asked to accompany him, eager to meet you." He smiled briefly, but then his gaze dropped quickly to the floor as he seemed unable to meet Emily's frigid glare.

"I will not pretend to believe," he continued, "that he was prepared to offer friendship or kindness. I knew that he would not." He looked up again with an imploring expression. "But I had no idea he would be so vicious."

He paused for a moment, apparently waiting for a response from Emily. She made none, and so he continued.

"You see," he said, "I did not even know of your existence until very recently. But since I discovered I had a cousin I have been most anxious to make your acquaintance. We are but a small family, you know. It is very important to me to be on friendly terms with the few of us that are left."

"I am afraid, Lord Faversham," Emily said, "that your father does not share your concern for familial ties."

"I am sorry for that, Cousin," he said, "but Father is a bitter man whose character was molded completely by his own father. The old earl—the one, I am ashamed to say, who rejected your mother—was a hard man of unflinching principles. He was hurt at your mother's elopement with a man of whom he strongly disapproved and was too proud ever to retreat from his position. My father simply echoed those long-held sentiments. You know, if someone says to you 'the sky is green, the sky is green, the sky is green' enough times, you actually begin to believe that the sky is green. That is how it was with my father. Those things he said to you last night were merely the words he had heard over and over from the old earl."

"And you, my lord," Emily said, "are here to right that wrong? To attempt to make up for six and twenty years of neglect?"