Lady Emma's Dilemma (9781101573662) (4 page)

He was about to make an offhand reply when Monteford spoke up from his place on the sofa.

“Yes, why are you not throwing out your usual bon mots, Devruex? Hold on.” He sat up and placed his snifter on the small end table. “Something about all this is vaguely familiar.

I seem to recall a similar evening, years ago, when we spoke of Lady Emmaline.”

With determined effort, Jack kept his expression placid as his old friend narrowed his eyes in concentration.

If Monteford were not so disguised by the amount of brandy he had consumed, Jack knew the viscount would have no trouble recalling that sultry night long ago when they had last spoken of Lady Emmaline.

He fervently hoped that his old friend would not suddenly regain his memory at this particular moment. He was not prepared to fend off the inevitable questions if Monteford recalled the time when, thirteen years ago, Jack had proclaimed his intention of running away with Lady Emmaline Wenlock.

“Oh, bother Lady Fallbrook,” Sally said with more than a hint of temper in her tone. “I for one have heard enough about her for an evening. Do not you agree, Ivy?”

“Lud, yes,” Mrs. Pennyworth agreed.

Jack felt some of the tension leave his shoulders, even though Monteford still gazed at him with slightly narrowed eyes. Obviously, he was still racking his brain about Lady Fallbrook.

Jack held Monteford's gaze until Sally introduced some other bit of gossip, finally distracting Monteford from the vexing subject of Lady Fallbrook.

Unfortunately, Jack's thoughts could not be so easily diverted.

So Emmaline Wenlock—no, Lady Fallbrook—has finally come to London. He could not push the thought away.

In years past, at the start of every Season there had been rumors that she was on her way to Town, but nothing had ever come of it.

After the death of Charles Fallbrook and after the appropriate time for mourning had past, there had again been intense speculation that Lady Emmaline would grace London.

Even so, years continued to pass until the
ton
had quite given up on ever seeing her again.

Occasionally, some fashionable fribble would return to Town after spending time with the countess at her country home. They could dine at the best tables for a week on the tales they shared of how Lady Fallbrook lived.

But she never came to London.

Until now.

“Do tell us about your amazing horse, Lord Devruex. Bellingham laid a monkey on the odds for me and I was beside myself when I heard she won,” Mrs. Pennyworth called from her place on the sofa.

In one swallow he finished the remainder of his brandy and turned back to the others. Thirteen years was a long time. Much too long to give Emmaline Fallbrook another thought.

“I
have, indeed, rusticated much too long if I am this twitterpated over a ball,” Emma said aloud although she was alone in the room. A small smile came to her lips. Talking to herself was a habit she had developed after living so many years alone. As far as most habits went, she felt this one was rather harmless.

Moving across the sumptuous blue-and-gold bedchamber, she went to the vanity table that stood between two long windows and opened a large, carved wooden case that rested on its highly polished surface. She hummed a happy little tune as she pulled out different pieces of jewelry and contemplated the evening ahead.

Adding to her excitement was a sense of anticipation, for her two dearest friends would also be attending the ball. Amelia Spence-Jones and Penelope, Countess of Tun-bridge, had each sent a note over this afternoon, expressing their delight that Emma was in London and promising to see her that evening at Colhurst House.

At that moment, the door opened and her maid, Milton, entered the room. Draped across her outstretched arms were several shawls, each more beautifully detailed than the last.

“Any of these would look lovely, my lady, but I think the silver one would look the best with your gown.”

Emma looked up from the jewel case to assess her reflection in the pier glass. Her deep rose pink gown, with its
deceptively simple empire waist and intricately embroidered puffed sleeves, needed little embellishment.

“Thank you, Milton,” she said, turning to the maid, who was laying the shawls across the bed. “Your taste is impeccable as usual. And the silver shawl has made my choice of jewelry very easy. I will wear my diamond eardrops and bracelet.”

Milton straightened, her plain face a picture of disappointment. “Is that all, my lady? What about the broach and necklace?” Milton loved to see her mistress dripping in jewels.

“No, I believe my gown will show to better advantage without the distraction of too many baubles.”

Milton, long used to expressing her opinion to her mistress, made a face. “The current fashion is for more jewels, but you always go your own way.”

“Yes, I do.” Emma sent a smile to her longtime maid before turning her attention back to her image. She assessed what she saw with critical eyes. Could Milton be right? It was very important for her to look her best tonight. This thought caught her up short. Why was tonight different from any other night? She met her own deep blue eyes in the glass and saw only confusion.

Tonight was different because Jack Devruex could be at the ball. There. She finally admitted to herself what she had been trying to push away since hearing he was in Town.

Closing her eyes, she shut out her too revealing expression. It was getting late, but she couldn't make herself move away from the mirror.

The evening loomed before her and she felt suspended between dread and anticipation, all over someone she had not laid eyes on for thirteen years.

Clenching her hands together, she told herself that she was being silly. It was highly unlikely that Jack Devruex would make an appearance at something so tame as Lady Colhurst's ball. Besides, even if he did, what did it really
matter? Whatever had passed between them had been buried by the passage of so many years.

“My lady? Are you feeling well?”

Milton's concerned tone brought Emma's attention back to the present. Unclenching her fingers, she turned to the worried looking woman.

“Yes, Milton, I am feeling well. Extremely well. Wonderfully well.”

Milton picked up the silver shawl and matching reticule. “I'm sure I do not know what that means, my lady, but you had a queer look about you for a moment. I sure wish we could go back home. I don't think Lonun is good for you.”

Taking the articles from the frowning maid, Emma smiled affectionately.

“We'll be home soon enough. You will see. The Season will fly by. Now
I
must fly or Grandmère will be cross. No need to wait up for me. I'm sure I'll be quite late.”

Milton sniffed. “I've been waiting up for you since your first ball, and I'll be waiting up for you tonight.”

Emma ceased adjusting her shawl.
Her first ball.
How strange that Milton would mention that tonight. She had met Jack Devruex at her first ball, and she felt just as nervous tonight as she had then, but for much different reasons.

Taking her wayward nerves well in hand, Emma turned to the stout maid and smiled brightly. “I shall see you in the wee hours then.” And with a deep, fortifying breath she swept out of the room.

As the luxurious coach carried them through the narrow streets to Lady Colhurst's townhouse, Emma could feel her grandmother's steely gaze affixed upon her. Pretending to gaze out the window did little to divert the dowager's attention.

A moment later, Emma felt no surprise when Grandmère began to speak in a firm voice.

“I trust that you are done with this wretched teasing
about paramours and other such nonsense. You must be aware that there shall be any number of suitable gentlemen at the ball. You know, my dear, it would be my fondest wish for you to marry again. You are much too young to stay in widow's weeds. This is one of the few things your mother and I agree upon.”

Pulling down the canvas blind, Emma suppressed a vexed sigh. Yes, her mother had been hinting for years that she should marry again. Thank goodness Mama had decided to stay in Brighton this spring, for Emma did not think she could bear the both of them haranguing her about marriage.

“Don't you think it's rather odd that neither you nor Mama has married again, yet you both behave as if I must?”

Grandmère clicked her tongue impatiently. “That is not the same thing and you know it. You are much too young and beautiful to remain unmarried.”

Emma leaned back against the cushions and felt a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “You were rather young when Grandpapa passed away. You cannot tell me that there were not any number of suitable gentlemen vying for your hand. Kel told me once that even old Noble Rot numbered in their ranks.”

“Your brother mistook the connection. The
Marquis of Rottingham
,” she emphasized the title with a disapproving sniff at her granddaughter's casual reference to a peer of the realm, “was a very dear and attentive friend.”

Emma smiled at this vague explanation. “I never thought to see the day when you, of all people, played coy, Grandmère.”

“Bah!” The dowager made a dismissive gesture, the ostrich plumes in her turban aflutter. “Why are you so persistent on this subject? Oh, never mind. I will tell you what you want to hear. Yes, I received a number of flattering offers in my day. So will you, now that you are in London.”

Emma lifted her brows. “Why did you not accept any of
those flattering offers?” She kept her tone deliberately mild.

Her grandmother gave a light shrug. “I did not feel the need to marry again.”

With a satisfied feeling of triumph, Emma said, “We have much in common, Grandmère, for I too feel no need to marry again.”

Even in the dim light of the coach lantern, she could see by her grandmother's slight frown that she was considering her words. Emma thought again how beautiful she was, with her thick white hair, deep blue eyes, and flawless complexion that was the envy of many a younger woman—and a keen intellect to match her beauty.

Emma had always adored her grandmother and never wanted to disappoint her in any way. Yet it pained her to know that on the subject of her possible remarriage, Grandmère was destined to be severely disappointed.

Finally, the dowager began to speak, her tone of voice growing more thoughtful and serious. “I will own that the Wenlock women have always been independent—sometimes to our detriment. After all, who has the power to censure us? You have lived on your own for more than six years and have long been used to making your own decisions. After enduring so many tragedies, first little Henry, then Charles, you have occupied yourself with your school, the orphanage, the farm, and I know not what. I can see that it has been much too long since you have had any amusement. Believe me, my dear, I would be the last person to fault your desire for a, shall we say, flirtation. After all, it is only a natural desire in a young and beautiful woman. But I do know how much Charles hurt you and I would hate to see you get hurt again by being foolish with your heart.”

Her grandmother's unexpected words not only touched Emma deeply, but they surprised her too. Grandmère had not mentioned the painful subjects of Henry and Charles in many years. Obviously, her grandmother had given this matter some serious thought. As Emma considered how to
respond, the coach trundled up the lane leading to the Colhursts' townhouse. She pushed the blind aside and saw several grooms, torches held aloft, running alongside the carriage to lead it up the drive.

Although she had set out to shock and tease her grandmother last night with her comment about taking a lover, Emma had also wanted to test the waters delicately. Since she was staying with her grandmother for the Season, Emma did not want her to be truly upset if she did decide to embark upon a discreet
affair de coeur.

However, that particular proposition was a very big
if.

Despite her bold statement, she was not completely positive that she actually had the nerve to take a lover. Back home, the half-formed notion of engaging in a serious flirtation seemed quite romantic and exciting. Now that she was actually in London, her carefree confidence had wavered.

With resolve, she dismissed thoughts of her romantic future. After all, she had all the lovely Season ahead of her to consider any potential amours. Tonight she would have the wonderful pleasure of dancing at a ball, something she had not done in a very long time.

As the coach rolled to a stop, Emma sent her grandmother a wide smile. “Oh, Grandmère, do not fret over my heart. Truly, there is no need. Besides, Charles did not really hurt me. He could not, for I did not love him.”

The old lady looked genuinely shocked. “What? Not ever?”

The door opened and music and laughter spilled from the wide-open doors down to the drive, where a string of coaches was unloading their occupants.

“No, not even a little,” she said cheerfully as she followed the dowager from the conveyance.

“My dear Emmaline,” Grandmère said with a shake of her head as they took the marble steps up to the crowded entryway, “now I am even more concerned for your heart.”

As soon as they made their way to the receiving room that led to the spacious ballroom below, their hostess, Lady Colhurst, greeted the dowager Duchess of Kelbourne and Lady Fallbrook with effusive charm.

As evidenced by the massive and fragrant floral arrangements placed in every corner of the room, the number of footmen circulating among the guests, and the size of the orchestra in the gallery, no expense was too extreme to make Lady Colhurst's ball the most beautiful, welcoming, and exciting of the Season.

As she moved toward the sweeping staircase, an overwhelming array of colors and sounds met Emma's senses. It had been years since she had attended such a large function. Under the pretext of adjusting her shawl, she paused a moment to gain her bearings. Hundreds of guests milled about the ballroom, and their smiling faces, along with the elegant setting, caused her pulse to quicken.