Rogue Grooms (35 page)

If there was anyone in the world who would understand, it was Georgina. She was a sophisticated lady, an artist and Society Diamond who was wildly, unfashionably in love with her husband. But she couldn’t tell Georgina. She could not tell anyone—even if she knew what it truly was she wanted to tell. What was making her heart burst!

She gave Georgina what she hoped was a reassuring, sunny smile. “I vow to you, Georgie, there is not much to tell. You know how it is in the Park—everyone watching each other, prattling away about nonsensical things. I could scarcely speak two words together with Lord Darlinghurst, and none of it beyond the ordinary.” Except when he held her hand ever so briefly. But that did not bear thinking about at the moment. “I do admit I am glad he is in England again, and I look forward to seeing him soon. That is all I can say at the moment.”

“Oh, well, if that is
all
you can say at the moment, I suppose I must be content. I must say you are being terribly vexatious, Em!” Georgina’s head fell back against the satin upholstery of her chair, as if so
vexed
she could no longer even sit up straight. “It is obvious we will get no work done this afternoon. Shall we go to Gunter’s? Elizabeth Anne has been begging for an ice these four days at least, and I cannot put her off much longer.”

Emily’s interest piqued, and she left off plucking aimlessly at her corded sash. “Oh, yes! An apricot ice is always most welcome. But, please, Georgie, no more questions about Lord Darlinghurst.”

“With Elizabeth Anne along? Of course not! It is shocking what big ears my little pitcher has grown. I vow she hears every word that is said in this house, then repeats them at the most inopportune moments.”

“Hm,” Emily murmured. “I do wonder where she inherited such a trait.”

 

“May we have an outing today, Papa?”

“Eh?” David glanced up from his newspaper to smile at Anjali. “Did you say something,
shona-moni
?
”

“I asked if we could have an outing today.” Anjali spread copious amounts of marmalade on her toast. David was a bit worried about how fond she had grown of the sweet, sticky treat. “My new governess is to start lessons with me tomorrow? So, I think we should have a treat before that happens.” She gave him her sweetest, most persuasive smile.

“And that jar of marmalade is not treat enough, eh?”

Anjali sighed, and rattled the spoon around in the almost-empty pot. “Marmalade is here every day, Papa. Treats are something out of the ordinary.”

“Quite right. I think I could use a treat myself. Did you have something particular in mind, Anjali?”

“I would love another ice, Papa, a strawberry one from Gunter’s.”

“What, just an ice? No diamonds or rubies?”

Anjali giggled. “Just an ice, Papa! I am too young for diamonds and rubies.”

“You, my dearest, are quite the easiest female to please whom I have ever met. Gunter’s it is, then. This afternoon.”

“You are the best papa in the world!” Anjali cried, clapping her sticky hands happily. “And I will play my new song on the pianoforte for you, too. I can play it with
almost
no mistakes.”

“I will look forward to it. Now, you should run along and wash up. Molly will help you dress for the day.”

“Yes, Papa.” Anjali slid out of her chair and hurried over to kiss him on the cheek. “You won’t forget—Gunter’s this afternoon?”

“I will not forget,” he promised.

“You don’t have to go driving in the Park again?”

“Not today. Today is just yours.”

Anjali nodded, seemingly satisfied, and skipped out of the breakfast room. David watched her go, thoughtfully refolding his newspaper. The pink ribbons tied in her black hair shimmered in the morning light, and she danced lightly on her little slippered toes.

Back in Calcutta, he had feared that bringing her to England might be a great mistake. She was a shy girl, one who was wary of change, and India was all she had ever known. But she seemed to enjoy the cooler environs of London, and did well with her new music lessons. It was true that she still clung closely to her father, and had not made any friends her own age from amongst the girls she met walking in the park with Molly the nursemaid. But surely that would come in time. As she became more assured of her place, she would grow more outgoing.

In the meantime, being away from the smothering attentions of her great-grandmother and female relations seemed to do her good. Not being constantly told that her entire worth to her family as a female was her ability to marry well freed her to think of other things—music, languages, art, history. And ices.

He smiled to think of the glow in her green eyes as she contemplated a trip to Gunter’s for a sweet. It made him remember the same glow in another girl’s eyes, many years ago.

Emily had once possessed the same sparkle and wonder that Anjali had now, yet something had changed in her. Oh, he knew that years had passed. They had grown up, and things could not stay the same. He himself had gone through such enormous changes.

But somehow he sensed that it was more than that with Emily. David tossed the newspaper onto the breakfast table and leaned back in his chair to remember their drive yesterday. At certain moments, for just an instant, he could have sworn he glimpsed the joyful Emily there. When she laughed at a child chasing a hoop, or watched, mesmerized, as a flock of birds took sudden flight over their heads, he saw the sparkle in her. The sparkle that said she could still race like the wind across the meadows.

But then a veil would drop, and her eyes would become wary and reserved again, her smile stiff, barely touching her lips. It was more than the years between them, the years that had made her a fine lady. She carried some secret burden, and he knew she would not relinquish it easily. Stubbornness was a trait that both the old
and
the new Emily shared.

Well,
he
could be stubborn, too. He was very good at solving other people’s problems, and he
always
helped his friends and family. Emily Kenton was one of the best friends he had ever had. So, whether she wished it or no, he would discover what bedeviled her, and set about removing it from her life. Then the mischievous, merry Emily could shine forth again.

David resolutely pushed himself back from the table and stood to leave the breakfast room. He would begin this knight-errant mission with a visit to the florist.

 

“I beg your pardon, my lady, but these just came for you.”

Emily paused in tying her bonnet ribbons to turn to her maid, Becky. Georgina and Elizabeth Anne were waiting downstairs to depart for Gunter’s, and Emily was in a great hurry to join them, if only the slippery satin would cease knotting so! She yanked hard at them, drawing the hat from her head.

But her fit of impatience faded when she saw what Becky held.

Flowers—but not just any flowers. Emily received posies almost every day, roses and violets and sometimes lilies. But none like these—great profusions of orchids that were creamiest white at the petals’ edges shading into midnight purple in the center. They were arranged in a basket, tied about with purple velvet ribbon. They were exotic and enticing, filling the chamber with rich perfume. Where had they been found, here in London?

Emily reached out for them, cradling them in her arms. They seemed almost unreal, as if they had been blown in from an exotic island, floating on ocean breezes to land in her room.

Tucked amongst the blooms was a note, yet Emily knew who they must be from even before she opened it. None of her usual suitors had the imagination for such flowers.

That was all it said, scrawled in a strong hand across the rich vellum. But it was enough.

She did not deserve such flowers. Or such a friend.

But she cherished them nonetheless. Her soul seemed to overflow as she buried her face in the orchids, drawing in all their sweet essence. “Oh, David,” she whispered.

“Shall I put them in water for you, my lady?” Becky asked.

Emily breathed in sharply, and pulled away from the bouquet. She had quite forgotten she was not alone! She could not afford to drift so far from reality—not now.

“Thank you, Becky,” Emily said, and handed back the bouquet, her fingers drifting slowly away from the satiny petals. “Is the duchess still waiting downstairs?”

“Yes, my lady. The carriage has been called.”

Emily nodded, and took up her abandoned bonnet before drifting out of the room. In the foyer, Georgina was putting on her own hat in front of the mirror while Elizabeth Anne fidgeted at the foot of the stairs so that her nursemaid could hardly button her cloak for her. As soon as she saw Emily, the child broke away from the frustrated maid and dashed forward to seize her hand.

“Oh, Aunt Emily! Were those flowers for
you?”
she asked breathlessly.

“Indeed they were,” Emily answered with a smile, swinging her niece into the air until she squealed with glee. “Are they not beautiful?”

“Bee-yoo-ti-ful!” Elizabeth Anne cried. “Were they from a prince? An Arabian prince?” Elizabeth Anne was reading the Arabian Nights with her new governess, and was now full of questions about myrrh and jeweled turbans and flying carpets.

“I would say an
Indian
prince,” Georgina said, laughing. “Now, Elizabeth Anne, cease hanging on your auntie like that. You will crease her gown. The carriage is waiting.” She tugged her child away, and gave Emily a wink. “I am sure Aunt Emily will tell us all about it later.”

 

Gunter’s was crowded at that hour, as it almost always was, with well-dressed hordes in search of fresh ices and delectable pastries. The tables were filled, and customers spilled out into the square to eat their treats on the benches and while strolling the pathways.

As Emily, Georgina, and Elizabeth Anne waited their turn to order, Elizabeth Anne changed her mind at least five times.

No, six. “I want strawberry, Mama. Do they have strawberry today?”

“I thought you wanted apricot, dearest,” Georgina said, straightening her progeny’s lopsided hair ribbon.

“Perhaps I do. What are you having, Aunt Emily?”

Emily sighed. She loved her niece dearly, truly she did, but sometimes her relentless energy was the tiniest bit wearying. As she turned to answer Elizabeth Anne, she suddenly paused, her attention captured by some new sweet-seekers just coming in the door. It was a little girl, not a great deal older than Elizabeth Anne—the most exquisite child Emily had ever seen. She was tiny, like a little doll in her white, fur-collared pelisse and pink frock, a little white fur hat perched atop her head. Long, glossy waves of black hair framed a small, pale oval face, and green eyes peeked shyly around the room. She hung back a bit, as if unsure about being suddenly in such a crowd.

Emily’s heart went out to her. She understood what it was like to be watched, to be thrust into situations not of her own making.

The child reached up her hand to catch at a man’s dark-gloved fingers. The gentleman bent down to speak to her, removing his hat to reveal his own luxuriant black hair, the same shade as the child’s.

And suddenly Emily perfectly understood the girl’s otherworldly beauty. It was
David
she was with. David who must be her father. This was the little girl he had spoken of.

Her mother must have been a great beauty, indeed.

Elizabeth Anne turned to see what had captured her aunt’s attention. “Oh!” the child cried out. “That must be an Arabian princess!”

The other child’s green eyes widened at this new attention, and she tensed as if she might flee. David put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and spoke softly in her ear.

Emily made her way across the room toward them, not seeing anyone watching her, not hearing Mr. Carrington calling her name from his table. She only saw David and that glorious bouquet of orchids before her eyes, and she had to speak to him.

He glanced up and saw her, and smiled in greeting, a flash of warmth leaping into his black eyes. That smile could truly have rivaled the bright afternoon, and it coaxed an answering smile from Emily.

But not from the Arabian princess. A small frown puckered her ivory brow, and she drew back against her father.

David’s hand stayed on her shoulder, and that dreamlike bubble around Emily burst like an overly full rain-cloud. They were a family, these two, and she was an outsider. Always an outsider.

She did not want to show any discomfiture, though. She kept her smile firmly in place, and said in her most polite voice, “Good afternoon, Lord Darlinghurst. It is nice to see you again.”

“And you, Lady Emily,” he answered, equally polite. But there was still that smile in his voice. “You are looking lovely, as always.”

“Thank you, Lord Darlinghurst. I fear not nearly as lovely as this young lady, though. Your daughter, I presume?”

“Indeed. Lady Emily Kenton, may I present Lady Anjali Huntington.”

His hand gently urged the girl forward, and she took one small step. Her gaze on the floor, she dropped to give a dainty little curtsy. “How do you do, Lady Emily.”

“How do
you
do, Lady Anjali.” Emily was not certain what else she could say. The only other little girl she knew anything about was Elizabeth Anne, and her mischievous niece was nothing like this porcelain doll. This Arabian princess. But, somehow, Emily desperately wanted this girl to like her. Or at least look at her. “That is a very pretty name—Anjali. So much finer than dull old Emily.”

Lady Anjali just stared back at her with wide, doubting eyes. Emily found herself more tongue-tied than she had been when presented to Queen Charlotte. What did one say to a silent Arabian princess child?

Fortunately, before she could start babbling about how very much she hated the name Emily, Georgina and Elizabeth Anne appeared at her side, ices in hand.