How Miss Rutherford Got Her Groove Back (19 page)

“Of course,” he concurred, trying desperately to stifle an impending burst of laughter.

He led her all the way down toward the bottom of the walk, stopping along the way to buy an ice for each of them. They found a bench on which to sit as they enjoyed their refreshment, watching the vast variety of people passing by, quietly commenting on their appearances from time to time.

Continuing on their way, Francis steered Emily right toward the Southern Walk. Once again, Emily found herself struck with wonder and admiration at the sight of three triumphal arches that were spread out along the length of it. As they passed under the last one, Francis nudged her in the direction of the grove. “Let us enjoy the music for a while,” he suggested. “There’s still half an hour until nine o’clock.”

Taking a seat on one of the many benches that lined the periphery, they allowed the music to waft over them. Neither of them spoke until it was over. “I could sit here forever,” Emily told him.

“I know what you mean. However, I do believe that it’s time for supper.” He rose, reached out his hand, and helped her to her feet.

Passing a statue of Handel, they entered a semicircular plaza surrounded by twenty supper boxes, all painted in bright colors to depict children at play, adults’ pastime activities, and scenes from the theatre. “They’re so beautifully painted, Francis. And the way they’re lit up . . . as if the murals are glowing . . . I must admit, I never thought to see a place such as this. I believe it’s my turn to thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he told her as he turned his head toward her with a smile.

They ordered some thinly sliced ham, a selection of cheeses, and some sweetmeats. Francis asked the waiter to bring them a decanter of arrack punch so that Emily might try the specialty. “Come, try this,” he told her once the food had arrived. He held a piece of sweetmeat up to her lips and slipped it into her mouth. Her eyes opened wide in appreciation. “Now follow it with arrack.”

The rich flavor of the confection mingling with the liquor made for an extraordinary gustatory experience. Emily closed her eyes, savoring every moment of it as Francis watched her with delight, happy to see the joy that she took in such a simple thing.

Her eyes flew open at the sudden sound of whistles blowing. She looked about to find the source. In astonishment she watched the gardens flood with light as hundreds of globe lanterns came ablaze. “Incredible,” she sighed. “How many do you suppose that there are?”

“Well over a thousand, if I’m not mistaken.”

Emily shook her head in wonder as she reached for a piece of ham. “This place truly is magical, I believe. It just continues to impress me.”

“Just wait until you see the cascade,” he told her.

“A waterfall?” she asked in astonishment.

He nodded. “Yes, you’d better hurry up and eat so we’ll be ready when it begins.”

“How will we know when it begins? Oh, Francis, we mustn’t miss it.”

He grinned at her. “There’ll be a bell,” he promised. “Now, how about a dessert plate with a selection of tarts, cheesecake, and some fresh fruit?”

“Sounds divine,” Emily told him dreamily as she finished the remainder of her arrack. “Perhaps with some coffee?”

“I didn’t think you drank coffee,” he teased as he leaned toward her, brushing her cheek with his lips.”

“Just because you’ve never seen me drink it, doesn’t mean that I don’t enjoy it.”

“Hmmm . . . I can’t help but wonder what else you might enjoy doing . . .”

“Francis!” Her cheeks filled with color as she glanced across at Mary, who was seated on a bench within a reasonable distance of them. The maid was paying more attention to the crowd passing her by than she was to either Emily or Francis, however.

There was no doubt in Emily’s mind that Francis was extremely aware of this, for in the next instant, she felt his hand grip her thigh beneath the table as he fixed her with a heated stare. A sudden primal urge to let him ravish her there and then hit her like a blow, knocking the air out of her. “Oh God, Francis,” she groaned, her eyes swimming with desire.

“I’ve never felt this strongly for any woman, Emily. Just thinking about you—and the evening we shared in your bedroom—makes me hard.” She whimpered slightly as she felt his grip tighten. “Do you have any idea how much I want you, Emily?” he asked. There was an almost desperate tone to his voice as he posed his question to her.

“I’m barely able to think of anything other than your hands on me, Francis. In fact, I think you’ll find that my need is just as great as yours.” She swallowed hard, then set her mind to slowing the beat of her racing heart.

“For pity’s sake, Emily.”

She eyed him warily. “Do you intend to seduce me before our wedding night, Francis?”

His hand was gone from her thigh the moment the words left her mouth, and she couldn’t help but feel a surge of regret, as if she’d lost something very dear to her. “No,” he told her with a hint of severity, determination clear in his eyes. “Some things are sacred.”

“Then why? For heaven’s sake, Francis, why would you . . .” The disappointment she felt at his sudden righteousness was so overwhelming that she felt she might scream with frustration.

“I wanted you to understand that what I feel for you is more than a passing fancy. I want to share my bed with you every night for the rest of my life. And when we’re out of bed, I want to spend my days talking to you, sharing my thoughts with you, and listening to everything that you may wish to tell me. I want to see you laugh, Emily, because when you do, the whole world seems to brighten with your happiness.”

The sound of a bell ringing was followed by a loud bustling all around them as men and women rose to their feet, all intent on viewing the cascade. “Come, Emily,” Francis urged her. “Let us hurry so that we can find a good vantage point before the crowd closes in around it.” He quickly handed a wad of money to their waiter as he hauled Emily out of her seat and hurried her along at a brisk pace.

They pushed themselves forward until they stood at the very front, to find themselves looking at a miller’s house standing next to a frothing waterfall. At the bottom of the waterfall, the churning waters drove a huge wheel attached to the side of the house. The color of the water changed from blue, to green, to red as different lights illuminated it.

Unable to tear her eyes away from any part of it, Emily looked on in wonder, not uttering a single word for the fifteen minutes that the spectacle lasted. Finally, the water slowed and the crowd began to disperse.

“It never would have occurred to me that watching water flow could be so mesmerizing,” she muttered as she turned back toward Francis. “Thank you for a wonderful day and evening.”

It had been wonderful, he agreed, as he took her by the arm and began leading her back toward Vauxhall Road—unbelievably wonderful. And while he’d never much cared for the notion of marriage, he suddenly had an urgent need to cart Emily off to the nearest church. The sooner they spoke their vows the better, he decided—especially if she was going to remain chaste until her wedding night.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

“A
letter came for you yesterday, Miss Emily,” the butler told her as she arrived for breakfast the next day.

Beatrice and Claire were both enjoying a hot cup of tea and some scones with strawberry jam as she walked across to the table. “Thank you, Parker,” Emily said, taking the letter from the tray that he was holding out to her. She then looked at her sisters as she took her own seat at the table. “I didn’t see either one of you yesterday. Francis mentioned something about a bonnet. Did you find it?”

“Oh yes,” Claire replied. “It’s the most splendid thing in the world. Don’t you agree, Bea?”

“It is lovely,” Beatrice agreed. “And I’m sure that I never would have heard the end of it if I hadn’t gone with you. Sorry we left you here alone, Emily, but your sister insisted that if we did not hurry, then someone else was sure to buy it.”

“That’s quite all right,” Emily chuckled. “As it turned out, I had a rather splendid day together with Francis.” It was impossible for her to hide her joy as the corners of her mouth edged upward into a happy smile.

“Really? Well, what did you do? Surely you weren’t alone with him?” There was a mischievous gleam in Claire’s eyes that told Emily that she almost wished it were so.

“Mary was with us, of course.” Beatrice made an evident sigh of relief. Emily then told her sisters of her visit to the Dulwich, and later trip to Vauxhall Gardens and how spectacular she had found it.

“Though I’m sure that both these places are of great interest,” Beatrice said with a smile, “I’m more inclined to believe that it’s the company you kept that has you looking so giddy this morning.”

“Oh, Bea, it was wonderful—he was wonderful. When the fireworks started . . .”

“There were fireworks?” Claire exclaimed, to which Emily nodded. “I should love to see them sometime.”

“Perhaps you shall,” Beatrice told her patiently, then turned her attention back to Emily. “And what happened when the fireworks started?”

Heat flushed Emily’s cheeks. “He put his arms around me, pulled me close, and kissed me, right there in the middle of the gardens.”

“Good God, Emily,” Beatrice exclaimed.

“Bravo!” Claire hooted simultaneously.

“Settle down, Claire,” Beatrice told her sister sternly. “This is a serious matter. Where was Mary while all of this kissing was going on?”

“I believe she was right there next to us, but the poor woman had never seen fireworks before, you see. One can hardly blame her for her lack of attention toward us.”

Beatrice slumped back against her chair, a perplexed look upon her face. She looked at Emily, her eyes suddenly narrowing as if she’d just seen something extraordinary. She leaned slowly toward her as she scrutinized every inch of her sister’s face. “Oh my,” she finally gasped. Emily averted her gaze with a growing degree of shyness, the sudden sensation of being under a microscope making her extremely uncomfortable.

“What?” Claire asked, noticing the look on Beatrice’s face. “What is it, Bea?”

“You’re in love with him,” Beatrice stated, much in the same way that she would have done if she’d just solved a mathematical equation. “You’re in love with Francis, the very man whom you’ve done nothing but complain about for the past ten years or more.”

A heavy silence filled the room. Emily could feel the weight of it confining her to her chair. She had no idea what to say. In truth, she hadn’t known that she loved him—really loved him—until that very moment. Her sister’s words somehow confirmed what she hadn’t yet had the courage to acknowledge. “I believe I am,” she finally sighed. “Oh my God, I’m in love with Francis Riley.” Without further warning, she burst out laughing. She was completely incapable of containing herself. How utterly wonderful. “This is probably the last thing I had ever expected to happen,” she giggled. Before she knew it, Beatrice and Claire had joined in until the whole room was filled with the sound of their laughter.

“Emily,” Beatrice said, her voice suddenly serious. “Do you know if he feels the same way toward you?”

Emily’s laughter subsided immediately at that question. It was the one thing that she had no desire to think about. Trust Beatrice to force her to confront it right there in the middle of her breakfast. Letting out a long sigh, she shook her head. “He desires me,” she told them plainly.

Claire looked as though she might choke on her scone at that remark, whilst Beatrice appeared on the verge of collapse. “Emily,” she managed to say with some degree of haranguing.

“Don’t you dare lecture me on propriety right now, Bea,” Emily said as she shot Beatrice an admonishing look. She could see Claire freeze out of the corner of her eye. “You are my sisters and I want to share all of my thoughts and feelings with you without constantly having to worry about being judged by you.” She bit down on her lower lip as her eyes softened into an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Bea, but we’re too often too afraid of stating things plainly because it’s ‘just not done.’ Well, to hell with that!” she exclaimed, as both of her sisters’ jaws dropped like flytraps. “I don’t think Francis loves me. I do, however, know that he respects me. I know that he enjoys spending time with me and I know that he yearns to have me in his bed.”

“He told you this?” Beatrice asked, dumbfounded.

“He did indeed.”

“Well, I certainly have newfound respect for the man,” Claire muttered. “I wish someone would tell me something like that.”

“Watch yourself, Claire,” Beatrice scolded. “It’s bad enough that Emily has taken to blatant honesty—however, I’d still like to remind you that you’re a lady and that there are certain things that ladies simply do not discuss.”

“I would never dream of saying such things in public, Bea,” Emily said. “But like I said, you’re my sisters. Who else would I say such things to?”

“Your confessor?” Claire ventured with a chuckle.

“Perhaps I would if I were Catholic,” Emily agreed with a grin. “And be given a thousand Hail Marys to absolve me from my sinful thoughts.”

“Ah, so Francis is not the only one thinking of sojourning in bed.” Claire’s voice was cheeky to a fault, her implication undeniable as she arched an eyebrow and challenged Emily for the truth.

“I must admit that there is nowhere I would rather be,” Emily acknowledged with a dreamy gaze.

“Even if he doesn’t love you?” Beatrice asked in shock. “And when on earth did you become so candid, Emily?”

Emily met her sister with a happy smile. “I don’t know. I’ve felt a change come over me for the past few months . . . something just had me feeling so tired of all the presence, and I must admit that it’s really quite liberating. And then with this whole thing with Adrian—I’ve just had enough.” She paused for a moment to sip her tea. “So yes, Bea, even if he doesn’t love me. Don’t you see that everything else—his eagerness to share my company, his genuine respect for me, and his ardent desire that’s forever in his eyes, all of that—is more than enough for me to be eternally happy? And perhaps in time, he will love me as our relationship grows.”

Beatrice nodded thoughtfully. “I believe you’re right, Emily. I believe you would be happy. But I must ask . . . why do you assume to know his heart? How do you know that he doesn’t love you already? After all, he’s known you for years—since you were children, in fact.”

“There’s something in his past, Bea,” Emily said with a hint of concern. “I’ve still to discover what it is, but whatever it is, it’s something that has consumed him to such a degree that there’s been no room for love or happiness of any kind. Since coming to London, however, I’ve witnessed a gradual change in him. I’ve seen him smile and laugh for the first time since I can’t remember when. So perhaps in time, the darkness will pass, and he’ll let love in again. Until then, however, everything else will have to suffice—and it shall, for they are just as valid elements in a relationship as love. In fact, they are the building blocks upon which love might have a chance to grow.”

Reaching for the envelope that lay beside her plate, Emily eyed the elegant script of her name, written on the front of it. She opened it carefully and pulled out a letter. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. It appears that I’m about to be late for an appointment.”

“With whom?” Beatrice asked as her eyes followed Emily to the door.

“With Kate. She says that she would like to talk.” Emily registered the apprehension in Beatrice’s eyes. “I have no quarrel with her, you know—she and Adrian love each other, they’re happy together, and the feelings that I had for Adrian are nothing compared to what I now feel for Francis.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that she hurt you beyond compare. Even if you’re no longer suffering, she paid no heed to your feelings at the time. Talk to her if you must, Emily, but don’t allow her to reclaim the position she once held in your heart by giving you an apology or an attempt at an explanation—she’s not worthy of it.”

“I know, Bea. I’ll be back soon. Will you be here?”

“Jonath— Mr. Rosedale,” Beatrice quickly corrected herself, “will be taking us to pick up our calling cards from the printers any minute now.”

“I had completely forgotten about that,” Emily said as she bit down on her bottom lip. “Would you mind picking mine up, too?”

“Of course not. In any case, we should be back in a couple of hours or so.”

Emily decided to ignore her sister’s use of Mr. Rosedale’s Christian name. There would be plenty of time for her to ask questions about that later. Right now, she was running very late. “Very well, then, I will see you later.”

B
y the time Emily crossed Piccadilly and entered Green Park, a faint drizzle had started up. She opened up her parasol and headed toward the tall and slender figure that stood sheltered beneath a large oak. “I was beginning to think that you wouldn’t come,” Kate said as she walked toward her.

“I’m sorry, but I only just received your letter this morning. How are you, Kate?” Reaching out her hand, she linked her arm with Kate’s as they began to stroll down the Queen’s Walk.

“I’m well,” Kate told her, “though I do miss our friendship terribly. I’m so sorry for the way in which both Adrian and I treated you. It was most unkind and inconsiderate of us. I think we were both so caught up in our own happiness that we completely forgot about everything else. I’m truly sorry.”

“You hurt me very badly, Kate,” Emily agreed. “But I’m so much better now— and stronger, I think—because of it. Coming to London has done me a world of good—I can see why you love it so.”

“Have you been to the theatre yet?”

“No, not yet, but Francis took me to see Vauxhall Gardens yesterday and I must say, it was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before in my life. It was wonderful.”

“I believe that you and Francis have spent quite a lot of time in each other’s company lately. Am I right?”

“I find myself enjoying his company more and more, Kate. I’ve spent so many years disliking him, yet now that I’m taking the time to talk to him, to get to know him again, I can’t help but be drawn to him. In fact, he’s largely to blame for my speedy recovery following my heartbreak over Adrian.”

“So you’ve taken a fancy to him?”

Emily paused for a moment. “No, Kate, I’ve fallen in love with him.” Kate spun around to face her friend, a look of grave concern upon her face. “What is it, Kate?” Emily laughed nervously. “Why the worrisome frown?”

“I’d hoped it hadn’t come to this,” Kate said. “Oh God, Emily, that I should be the one to break your heart twice is really more than I can bear.” Her eyes welled until tears dampened her rosy cheeks.

“Good grief, Kate, whatever is the matter?” Emily asked in trepidation as fear ran coldly down her back.

“I’ve heard a lot of talk lately,” Kate said, “about Francis. First at Lady Cunningham’s garden party the other day, and then again yesterday when I was out to tea with some friends of mine.”

“What kind of talk?” Emily asked with a growing sense of alarm.

“Emily, Francis has a mistress,” Kate told her seriously.

Emily froze for a moment, then burst out laughing while Kate looked on in shock. “Are you serious, Kate? I’m sure there must be some mistake. Francis just isn’t the sort of man to entertain a mistress. In fact it’s completely preposterous.”

“Apparently it’s quite a well-known fact amongst the
ton,
Emily. So well-known, in fact, that I’m quite surprised we didn’t hear of it sooner.”

“Do you have some proof, Kate? Some form of evidence that might convince me? Because to be quite fair, I’m not particularly inclined to believe such a rumor—and it is a rumor, is it not? Or have you actually seen the woman?”

Kate didn’t respond; she merely looked at Emily until her unspoken answer sank in. “Oh God,” Emily muttered. “Where did you see her?”

“She was at Lady Cunningham’s garden party. Miss Cartwright and Miss Howard, two new acquaintances of mine, pointed her out to me. Her name is Charlotte Browne.”

A chill settled over Emily as bile began to rise in her throat. “Where does she live? Do you know?”

They turned about, heading back toward Piccadilly. “Not precisely, no. I’ve been told that she has an apartment here in London—paid for by Francis, of course.”