Julia London (4 page)

With that happy image playing in her mind’s eye, Emily put aside her pen and drew on her Sunday gloves, found her reticule, and marched out of her room to join her family for church services and the spring social immediately following. She was not the sort to ever miss an opportunity to further her cause, and as two of the gentlemen in question regularly attended church, she counted it as one of her better opportunities.

When they arrived at the church, Emily’s parents and older brother took some time to greet the many friends and neighbors who had gathered on the church steps this brilliant spring morning. As Emily impatiently waited for her parents, her eyes scanned the crowd; she spotted Montgomery off to one side, speaking with the last vicar’s widow.

Interesting. Mrs. Becket had put away her widow’s weeds and was wearing a blue brocade gown that Emily thought conspicuously bright for Sunday services. The widow was laughing at something Montgomery said, her eyes crinkled appealingly at the corners. Emily instantly urged her father in that direction, hoping for the chance to converse with Montgomery, but her father was engaged in a lively conversation with Lord Frederick and would not be budged. Emily could do nothing but stand by dutifully.

But she could watch intently as Montgomery leaned his head close to the widow and said something that made the woman blush.
Blush!
Imagine it, a widow blushing like a girl! It was, in Emily’s opinion, unseemly.

When at last it came time to enter the church, the Forsythe family filed in and occupied the third pew to the right of the pulpit, as was their custom. On the second row to the left of the pulpit, Lord Montgomery had joined his sister and her husband, as was his custom. Emily liked this arrangement—she could watch him in the course of the services. Typically, she alternated between Montgomery and Dillingham, who sat directly before her, but Dillingham was in the country this weekend, and Bastian, alas, was apparently a sinner, for he did not attend services with any regularity. That would, of course, change if Emily accepted his offer.

As the services started, she settled in, one eye trained on Montgomery, the other on the vicar, naturally, lest anyone think she wasn’t completely attentive. But her attention to the vicar soon waned as it became apparent to her that Montgomery was not listening to him, either. She couldn’t be
completely
certain, but she thought he was watching the widow Becket, who was seated off to one side with her father.

But
why
would he be watching her?

Emily mulled that one over. It wasn’t as if Widow Becket was any sort of match for a viscount! Her beginnings were humble, as Emily understood them, and she was living in the guest house on the vicar’s small estate. Not only that, she was
old.
Granted, not so old that she required a cane or any such thing, but too old to be contemplating marriage again.

Yet at the conclusion of the insufferably long service, Emily was positively convinced that Montgomery had gazed at Mrs. Becket the entire service. Well,
mostly
convinced—she supposed it was possible that he’d been gazing at the cross above her head, divining some sort of inspiration.

Nevertheless, the possibility troubled her.

At last, the congregation filed out the church and tromped around through the courtyard, across the cemetery, to the old stables converted to meeting rooms where the spring social would be held. Emily escaped her parents, and her brother, who wandered off to join other young men that Emily had no use for, and made her way to sit beside Miss Tabitha Townsend, who, like her, had come out just this season. Emily and Tabitha had known each other since they were girls.

“Have you received an invitation to the May Day Ball?” Tabitha asked breathlessly once the two young women had exchanged pleasantries.

A ridiculous question. Of
course
she’d been invited. “Of course.”

“What do you intend to wear?” Tabitha asked anxiously.

“I’ve a new yellow silk set aside for just that occasion.” Emily had managed to convince her father she needed a new gown for every event of the season.

“
Ooh,
how lovely.”

Tabitha sighed so longingly that Emily gathered her pale blue gown would be making its third appearance this season. The Townsends were not as wealthy as the Forsythes, which everyone knew, but Tabitha proceeded to launch into a rather lengthy tale of her latest trip to the modiste, and how, in a tragic turn of events, her new silk gown would not be ready for the May Day Ball.

Emily lost interest and began to look around at the congregation milling about, her eyes trained for Montgomery. He was easy to spot—a head taller than most, his handsome face radiated a warmhearted smile as he spoke with fat old Lady Vandergast.

Emily
would
speak to him today. Determined, she glanced down to straighten the buttons of her gloves as Tabitha droned on. But when she glanced up again, she frowned—Widow Becket was standing very near Montgomery. Again.

“What do you think?” Tabitha asked.

“I beg your pardon?” Emily asked, dragging her gaze away from Montgomery.

“About the shoes. Should I wear the silver, to match the reticule? Or the blue, to match the gown?”

“The silver. Contrasts are all the rage,” Emily said instantly. “By the bye, have you noticed that the Widow Becket has come out of her weeds?”

Tabitha looked to where Emily indicated and exclaimed happily, “Aha, she has indeed. Has it been as long as two years since the poor vicar’s death?”

“Just, actually,” Emily said. “I wonder if she intends to stay on in London, or trot back to Wales or wherever it is she comes from.”

“Oh no, I should think she’d stay,” Tabitha said instantly and with some authority. “Mrs. Becket is engaged in a charitable endeavor benefiting the Hospital for the Infirm, as is my mother. Mother told me that Mrs. Becket and her father have been granted the right to stay on at the vicar’s guest house for as long as she liked. Mrs. Becket said likely she would, as there is so much more she might do with her charity work in London than in Shropshire.”

Emily narrowed her eyes and glared at Tabitha. “Are you quite certain?”

Tabitha shrugged weakly. “Fairly certain, yes.” She turned away from Emily’s intent gaze and looked at the widow again. “She was a
Methodist,
you know,” she suddenly whispered.

Emily gasped.

Tabitha nodded fiercely. “Mother says that our departed vicar found her in a Methodist church in the country and fell quite in love with her. So inspired was he by his love that he convinced her to join the Church of England and come to London.” She paused there and sighed dreamily. “Isn’t it romantic? He saved her from the Methodists! My cousin Alice had something very similar happen,” she added, and launched into yet another excruciatingly boring tale having something to do with more country people.

Romantic
it was not, Emily thought. How
dare
Widow Becket, a
Methodist
of all things, insert herself into the
ton
? She thought to stay on in London so that she might carry on indecently, as she was this very moment? Preying on marriageable men and taking the attention from debutantes? Emily glowered across the crowd at Montgomery, who was still speaking to Widow Becket, standing entirely too close to the woman and smiling in a way that made Emily fume. He was bestowing an indecorous smile on a
vicar’s widow,
and worse, his lordship clearly held the woman in some esteem!

As for
her,
Widow Becket was looking up at him and laughing in that perfectly adorable way she had of laughing. It was enough to compel Emily to her feet.

“Wh-where are you going?” Tabitha cried, not quite finished with the recitation of her cousin’s romance.

“I beg your pardon, but I had forgotten that my mother bade me to sit with her.”

“Oh,” Tabitha uttered, obviously bewildered.

“Good day!” Emily said smartly and marched off before Tabitha could reply.

She made her way through the crowd, dutifully stopping to pay her respects where necessary, and finally reaching the other side of the gathering where Montgomery was deep in conversation with Widow Becket. Decorum be damned, Emily marched up to the couple and forced a bright smile to her face.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Becket. My lord,” she said, curtsying.

Both of them started a bit at her intrusion. Mrs. Becket instantly smiled and grasped Emily’s hand. “Good afternoon, Miss Forsythe! My, how lovely you look today! Positively radiant—it must be the effects of having a successful debut,” she gushed.

“I suppose so. Thank you,” Emily said stiffly, and turned a smile to Lord Montgomery.

“Miss Forsythe, how do you do?” he asked, perfectly polite.

“Very well, indeed, my lord,” she said, and faltered. How to rid Montgomery of the widow now? As it was, the two of them were looking at her expectantly, as if they waited for her to announce something hugely important. “Will you be attending the May Day Ball, my lord?” she suddenly blurted.

Montgomery arched a brow in surprise above his smile. “The May Day Ball? Why, I had not thought of it, Miss Forsythe,” he said, glancing at Mrs. Becket. “I can’t say I’ve even been invited.”

“Of course you have!” Emily insisted. “Everyone has been invited!” She caught herself there and glanced at Widow Becket—well, not
everyone
had been invited. “I do mean, of course, everyone in the
ton.
”

Whatever she thought Mrs. Becket’s reaction would be, she had not thought she’d laugh.

“No need to explain, Miss Forsythe. His lordship and I were just speaking of the many events this season holds,” she said and shifted her gaze to his lordship, her smile going very soft for a moment.

“What of them?” Emily asked.

“Beg your pardon?” Widow Becket asked, seeming a little distracted.

“There are many of them for debutantes,” Lord Montgomery helpfully clarified.

“Yes,” the widow said, turning her smile to Emily again. “How fortuitous you have so many places to dance on your first year out!”

“I suppose that is true,” Emily admitted, and clasped her gloved hands tightly together, looked at the stone floor for a moment, wondering why the widow wouldn’t take her
leave
? A few awkward moments passed. It seemed to Emily to take forever before Widow Becket at last seemed to understand she was intruding.

“Ah . . .” the widow said.

Emily quickly glanced up; Widow Becket smiled very brightly at Emily. “I think I’ve monopolized his lordship quite long enough—”

“But you haven’t at all,” he said instantly.

“I should see if the vicar needs me,” she said, stepping back. “Good day, my lord. Good day, Miss Forsythe.”

“Good day, Mrs. Becket,” Emily called out.

Much to her annoyance, Montgomery’s gaze followed the retreating widow.

“And how did you find the service?” Emily demanded.

Montgomery dragged his gaze to her again. “The service? Inspiring, as always. Aha, there are your parents, Miss Forsythe. Shall I take you to them?”

There was no graceful way to answer that but to say yes, was there? Disappointed, Emily nodded, put her hand on the arm he offered, and let him lead her to where her mother and father were sitting, acutely aware that her opportunity was slipping away from her with each step. Before it slipped completely away, as they neared her parents, she blurted boldly, “I hope I shall see you at the May Day Ball,” and lifted her gaze to him.

Montgomery glanced down at her. “What a lovely compliment. Thank you.” He looked up to her parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Forsythe, how do you do?” he said, lifting Emily’s hand from his arm.

He exchanged pleasantries with them, wished Emily a good day, and walked on, into the crowd.

Emily watched him go, a little bewildered. She’d had it from her very own brother that if a woman paid particular attention to a man, he would reciprocate that attention. Montgomery didn’t reciprocate. He’d scarcely noticed her at all because he was too intent on Widow Becket. It was disgraceful to a man of his stature.

For the remainder of that luncheon, Emily could not tear her gaze from Montgomery, counting the times he looked for Widow Becket. Eight in all.

That afternoon, when they had returned home from that insufferable affair, Emily plotted her revenge on a woman who had the least right of all the women in London to the admiring looks of one of the most eligible bachelors among the
ton,
a bachelor who, but for some divine intervention, had suddenly become the only man she’d consider marrying.

Widow Becket should enjoy her flirtation now, Emily thought, because she was determined to bring it to a crashing end.