Romantic Rebel (21 page)

They settled on the George, where Paton was invited (by Geoffrey) to join us. I was amazed that he accepted. In his position I would rather have driven without food to the edge of the world. Over our meal, Isabel had a second chance to tell of her night’s horrors, and Geoffrey to play the stern but loving moral guide. Paton and I took the opportunity of pretending we were not aware of each other’s presence at the table. The gentlemen had a private word while they were settling the bill, and I gave Isabel a Bear Garden jaw about hurting Lady DeGrue.

As we went toward the carriages, Geoffrey said, “You’re driving back with Paton, Emma. I’ve spoken to him. I mean to propose to Isabel on the way home. I ought really to speak to Lady DeGrue first, but under the circumstances, Lord Paton thinks it will not be considered ill bred, as she has shown a marked approval of me.”

“She’ll be tickled pink, Geoffrey. In a way, I’ve already spoken to her. I suggested something of the sort, and she was thrilled.”

“Really! I shall ask Paton to stand as witness for the nuptials.”

He was quite as arrogant as Paton in assuming a positive reply. Paton approached me and said, “Mr. Nesbitt told you of the driving arrangements?”

“Yes.”

“Luckily I knew the trip would be a long one, and drove my carriage and team of four. My groom has got us a fresh team for the drive back.”

“Good.”

He handed me into the carriage. I settled into a corner with a rug over my knees, closed my eyes, and pretended to be asleep. Sleep was the farthest thing from my mind, but it was my intention to stay that way till the carriage drew up to Lampards Street. Behind my closed lids there swarmed such a varied array of scenes, it reminded me of Brewster’s new toy, the kaleidoscope, with people taking the place of colored glass chips.

Papa was there, and Geoffrey, with Nesbitt Hall hulking in the background. No longer my home, but a place I would visit Isabel and Geoffrey, after their marriage. I would have friends to visit in Bath as well, as Annie and Pepper would settle here, in Mr. Percival’s flat. I never did meet Mr. Percival. Perhaps I would call on Mrs. Speers, and deliver her a copy of my gothic novel, after it became a huge success. And of course I must visit Lady DeGrue.

I realized that in this human kaleidoscope, I was the unsettled piece. I would be visiting everyone, but from where? Where would I live? The darkest piece in the set was Lord Paton, and I put off thinking of him till the last. I would not be able to hold my tongue once I started reviewing my grievances and a three-hour argument was more than I was up to. For half an hour the horses clip-clopped hypnotically through the night. My bones became weary and I shifted to relieve the pressure.

“Warm enough?” Paton asked the moment I stirred. His voice, fully alert, told me he had not been resting.

“Yes, thank you,” I murmured drowsily.

“Since you are awake, Miss Nesbitt...”

I made a sleepy “Mmmm” sound, designed to discourage conversation.

He ignored it and said, “I want to apologize for what I said at Stroud. I thought you and Nesbitt... The thing is, you see, I went to Lampards Street to call on you this evening. Mrs. Speers said you and Nesbitt had gone bolting out of the house. She overheard you urging him to go to Gretna Green. She thought he put up some argument. It was my intention to rescue you.”

“You should hot have paid any attention to my landlady. She’s always bosky by evening.”

“She was, but I had her call the servant, and she corroborated it.”

I gave off all pretence of being sleepy. “Did they not tell you Miss Potter was with us?”

“No! I don’t know—I was in such a state, I wasn’t hearing too clearly, but I do remember now that she wasn’t in your flat when I broke down the—when I—entered.”

“You broke our door!”

“Just the lock!” he assured me. “I’ll have it fixed.”

“Everyone in the house will have been in our rooms by now, pawing through our belongings,” I scolded him. “Why can’t you mind your own business? And why were you there anyway?”

“I wanted to see you, to continue discussing rationally what we began to speak of last night.”

I listened with interest. “You already had the foolish idea that Geoffrey was trying to bullox me into—”

He cut me off sharply. “I don’t mean that! You wanted to iron out the difficulties of your position. I gave it considerable thought, after I left you, and I think you should brazen it out. There is no point pretending your father has been dead a year. Once a young lady inherits a fortune, people suddenly take a keen interest in her origins. Someone will discover he died just weeks before you attacked the Upper Rooms.”

“I did not attack them! I attended! Why do you always make me sound a wretch?”

“It was an attack on convention. You should have been in deep mourning. You thought your father had disinherited you, and in retaliation you went on a spree. I think people can understand, and forgive that. I did, when I read your essay, and so did Lady Forrest.”

“You
told
her!” My voice was thin and cutting, like a scalpel.

“On the understanding that she was not to repeat it. I wanted an older and wiser person’s opinion. My aunt thinks it will be a nine day’s wonder, like Willie Kemp’s dance from London to Norwich. Lady DeGrue will make her crew toe the line. She has her own secret, which we are privy to. The greatest problem is that you would have to go into mourning, now that the will is straightened out.”

“I intend to. Why do you think I’m wearing this hideous black gown?”

“I thought it was very becoming.”

“I look like a witch, and if you think to beguile me with that sort of meaningless compliment, I suggest you stop and let me get back to sleep.”

“You weren’t sleeping. You were as stiff as a board, and your hands were moving the whole time,” he said sharply.

But when he resumed, his tone was softer. “Emma, we have to talk, and we aren’t likely to have a better opportunity than this. I admit my first intention toward you did not include marriage. What was I to think, meeting you as I did? I only knew that you were beautiful and intelligent, and I wanted to see a good deal more of you.” His hand moved across the space and gripped mine.

“And like a true gentleman, you turned off your mistress,” I reminded him.

“I planned to be faithful to my mistress at least. When I learned you were not a—what I—”

“A lightskirt.”

“Ahem. Yes, I soon realized I still wanted you—for my wife. I still do, Emma.” His body followed his arm across the space, and he sat beside me.

“You had an odd way of showing it!”

His arm stole around my waist, drawing me into his arms. “You called me a lecher.”

“You
are
a lecher.”

His breaths invaded my ear, causing a peculiar and highly enjoyable sensation of insanity. “But a faithful lecher who loves you very much.” A trail of kisses glided along my chin, leaving fire and tingles in their wake.

I heard light, uneven breaths echo in the carriage, and realized they were my own. My heart pounded with rapid, fierce beats, like a hare’s in chase. “A honeymoon, say in Italy and France, would solve the problem of mourning. No one would be observing what you wore, or where you went,” he said softly.

“I don’t intend to dishonor my father’s memory by gallivanting.”

“All the better. I’ll have you to myself.”

His lips found mine, and burned a kiss that was like a brand, marking and sealing me for life. “I can’t get married when I’m in mourning—can I?” I asked weakly.

“Geoffrey plans to. A quiet do, with just family in attendance, and a brief announcement in the papers. If there is a little talk, we shan’t hear it. And when we return, we’ll be living in London, where there will be greater scandals than ours to titillate society.”

“London? I should like to meet some other writers!”

He traced my chin with his thumb. “You haven’t given me your answer, Emma. Must I resort to bribery—a review in the
Quarterly?
We don’t usually review question marks, but—”

“But for a question mark with a coronet on top, you might make an exception?”

“Providing it is
my
coronet!”

“I suspected all along you could do it if you wanted to. You said you had no say in the matter.”

“I didn’t realize that was my sole attraction at the time. Now I am coming to know you better,” he said, but with a teasing smile that still bordered on the arrogant.

“Just so you don’t expect me to buy a pig in poke. First I’ll read my review,
then
I shall decide whether I shall have you.”

“Emma! It’s all decided.”

“Is it, Paton? You must convince me of it.”

Like any overbearing man, he tried to convince me by amorous physical violence, and like any ninnyhammer in love, I let him succeed. But I shall still get my review, I promise you! And I shall continue to fight any French philosophy that I see being perpetrated around me as well.

Many hours later, when Isabel was safely returned and the rest of us met at Lampards Street, Geoffrey announced that he would be married within the week, and take his bride to Nesbitt Hall immediately afterward. Paton and I were to be married at his father’s estate. He assured me the duke would be so happy to see him settle down he would not mind that the bride wore black.

That evening I re-read my diary, and was amazed at how angry it sounded. I am no Boadicea, nor do I much admire her. I looked her up at the circulating library, and believe she would have done better to bat her eyes at the governor Suetonius and conciliate him, rather than massacre seventy thousand Romans and Britons. There is more than one way to skin a cat. Rome regained what she had captured in any case, Boadicea took poison, and thousands more were killed in the ensuing warfare. She was apparently unaware of the old Roman adage, Love Conquers All.

Copyright © 1991 by Joan Smith

Originally published by Fawcett Crest (0449216608)

Electronically published in 2007 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

     http://www.RegencyReads.com

     Electronic sales: [email protected]

This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.