Something About Emmaline (17 page)

“Well, I never,” Mr. Starling said. “Scandalous. Now I see what has the fellow in such a fine state. Please offer my apologies to him and ask him how I can help. Don’t like for him to think we are all so disreputable. Stealing apprentices!”

“Then perhaps, Mr. Starling, you could be a little more accommodating with the signore this morning. Perhaps you
could work on the opposite side of the room and I’ll ask the signore to move his paint pots well out of your way.”

“A fine idea, milord. Yes, indeed, milord,” he said, bowing. “You, there,” he called to one of his own apprentices. “Move those ladders and give these foreign fellows some room.”

Meanwhile, Emmaline had stripped off her apron and was starting for the door.

Alex caught her by the arm. “Where are you going?”

“To Lady Jarvis’s to get those drawings. I’ll not have my ballroom copied by the likes of that woman.”

Alex glanced at her stormy countenance and laughed. “No, you don’t. The last thing I need is another
on dit
being bandied about the
ton
. We’ve fed those gossipy cats enough tattle broth without you adding more hot water to the pot.” He glanced up at the doorway where one of the footmen was lolling about. “Thomas! Come here!”

The footman rushed forward. “Aye, milord?”

“Go over to Lady Jarvis’s and find an Italian fellow by the name of—” He turned to Signore Donati and asked him in Italian for the name of his assistant. With the information provided, he continued to instruct the footman. “Find this Luigi—discreetly, of course. And then offer the fellow twice whatever Lady Jarvis is paying him to come back here. Get a nice purse from Simmons to use as a lure.”

“And don’t forget to retrieve the signore’s portfolio,” Emmaline added.

Alex nodded. “With the portfolio,” he told Thomas.

“And any drawings or copies,” she added.

“I believe Thomas gets the point,” he told her, grinning at her wrinkled brow. He rather liked this fierce firebrand side of her.

“I’ll find this fellow,” Thomas promised, making a cheeky wink, then leaving in all haste.

Alex translated his plan to Signore Donati, who all but wept with joy, that is after he was finished hugging Alex and kissing his cheeks.

“
Grazi! Grazi!
” he effused.

Mr. Starling shook his head at the display. “Foreigners,” he muttered as he went back to work, redirecting his men to clear a section of the room for the painter.

Alex brushed his hands together and grinned at Emmaline. “Now, with that solved satisfactorily, I wanted to ask if you would—”

“Ah, cousin, there you are!” Hubert called out from the doorway. “If it isn’t an imposition, I have a few matters of the utmost importance to discuss with you, if you would but—”

“Can’t do it now, Hubert,” Alex told him.

His cousin blinked once, then blinked again. “I don’t think these matters can be put off. We need to settle accounts from last night—Lilith is still in high dudgeons over the entire episode and I think—”

“Not today,” Alex repeated. “I promised Emmaline that we would go on a picnic this afternoon. Isn’t that right, my dear?”

Her lips pursed together, while one of her brows quirked up.
No more tales, eh?
she seemed to be chiding him.

Please, Emmaline, he wanted to say to her. Spend the day with me
.

Then her eyes lit with amusement and she played her part like the finest of thespians. “How forgetful of me!” she exclaimed. “Our picnic! I fear this crisis with Signore Donati quite overshadowed my memory. Will you forgive me, Sedgwick?”

“Of course,” he said. He glanced over at Hubert. “Sorry, my good man. But duty to my wife calls. Perhaps tomorrow.”

Hubert glanced from one to the other and then let out a wheezy “harrumph,” before he marched from the room.

Once he was sure that his cousin was well and gone, Alex dug around in his pocket and produced a handkerchief. “You have some paint,” he told her, pointing to his own nose.

“Oh dear,” she said, taking the handkerchief and wiping at her nose.

He shook his head, took the cloth from her and, edging closer, wiped the remaining bit of paint from her face. For a moment they stood together, so very close that all he could think of was the night before when he’d held her in his arms in the carriage.

Oh, yes, his earlier boast about not wanting to exercise his marital rights had sounded good, but right now…well, that was another matter.

There was something about Emmaline that captivated him. Left him longing for something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Thank you, Sedgwick,” she said, a faint hint of blush on her cheeks, as she moved out from beneath his shadow. “Do you really want to go on a picnic?”

“I suppose we have no choice now, do we?”

She bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder, considering the work still to be done. “I don’t know…”

“You wouldn’t leave me to an afternoon with Hubert, would you?”

She laughed. “No, I don’t suppose I would wish that fate on anyone. But—”

“Never fear,” he rushed to tell her, “Thomas will have
this Luigi fellow back in a thrice. Besides, you deserve a reward.”

As if on cue, Simmons came in. “My lord, the carriage is ready and Mrs. Simmons has the basket prepared for you and her ladyship.”

“A spontaneous invitation?” Emmaline slanted a glance at him. “You had this planned all along, didn’t you?”

Alex shook his head, his hands rising upward. “I believe that Simmons is the culprit here.”

“Too bad. For a minute I thought you were trying to charm me.”

E
mmaline dashed upstairs to find a simple shawl to toss over her gown, as well as her straw bonnet, but then Mrs. Simmons came hustling in to help her, and protested her choices most vehemently.

“My lady, if Lady Rawlins saw you leave the house dressed so, she’d be over to ring a peal over my head for a good hour, laying in or no.” Then the old busybody got a sly look on her face. “Besides, don’t you want the master to see you in your new things?” With that, the housekeeper pulled out an exquisite buttercup carriage dress, a beribboned and flowered poke bonnet and an elegant lacy shawl.

Emmaline’s protests that the dress was too fancy for a mere trip to the park were met with deaf ears as Mrs. Simmons pinned and tied her into it.

“There now, my lady,” the housekeeper mused, like a shameless mother hen, pushing her toward the door. “You look as pretty as a picture. Won’t you just turn his lordship’s head.”

Emmaline slanted a glance at her. Not Mrs. Simmons as well?

Still, despite the housekeeper’s assurances, it was with some trepidation that she went out on the front steps and awaited Sedgwick’s verdict.

He came forward, a wide grin on his face, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. For a man who wasn’t supposed to be charming her, he was doing a good imitation, as he led her down the steps with all the attention and respect a gentleman afforded his ladylove.

When she quirked a brow at him, he drew closer and said, “For Simmons’s sake. I’d hate for him to be disappointed in us after he went to so much trouble.”

Emmaline grinned at him. “Mrs. Simmons, as well.”

A picnic, she discovered, at least a Sedgwick picnic, was no hastily produced basket of soggy morsels and stale treats, but a feast that could sustain a battalion.

Mrs. Simmons’s basket was a huge affair that took up the entire tiger’s seat, along with a long slender case, containing what, she couldn’t fathom. In addition to all this was a stack of blankets and pillows, along with military-style furniture, folded and organized neatly, tied to the rear of the carriage. No doubt leftovers from the twentieth baron’s military campaigns with Howe.

“Is there room for us?” Emmaline asked as she surveyed the overladen phaeton. Heavens, how long could a picnic take? It looked like he was packing for a trek to the wilds of Scotland.

“Of course,” he said. “The afternoon awaits us.” He led her to her side of the high flyer, the kind of expensive phaeton that only the dabbest hands drove.

Emmaline eyed the dangerous conveyance with suspi
cion. She’d never ridden in such a sporting vehicle. And when the horses started to prance and snort impatiently in their traces and the entire thing swayed dangerously, she wasn’t too sure she wanted to get aboard.

“Do you know how to drive this…this monstrosity?” she said from the safety of the last step.

He turned to her. “Lady Sedgwick, never question a man’s skill with his cattle.”

“When my neck is involved I think I have every right to inquire.”

“You are quite safe,” he assured her. “Remember, I am a man besotted. I wouldn’t let any harm come to you.” Then he winked at her, his green eyes sparkling with amusement.

The devilish flirt.

“If you please,” he said, holding out his arm.

She eyed the carriage and the horses one more time, then screwing up her courage, let him hand her up into the seat.

His hand lingered on her arm, and she found his touch unsettling. She tried telling herself that she was still overtired from her long night, but that wasn’t the entire truth. She loved the feel of his muscled forearm beneath her fingers. The strength he lent her so readily, a feeling she told herself she had no right to claim.

But when he got in, she found that the narrow seat afforded them little room. Wedged in next to him, her thigh pressed to his, her hip to his. She could only grit her teeth and try her best to remember her vow.

Not to repeat their kiss…not to let him take her in his arms. She’d have to add no more rides in this blasted phaeton, for it was going to be tortuous to make even the short jaunt to the park.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded.

Simmons and his wife were gathered to see them off, while upstairs Lilith and Hubert watched them from a window. But she had little time to worry about their dour faces, for just then, Sedgwick tapped the ribbons, sending the horses forward and the lofty carriage rocking on its great springs.

“Oh, dear!” she cried out as she clutched for something to hang on to. The first thing she found was Sedgwick’s arm.

“First time in a phaeton?” he asked, letting the horses take the carriage careening into traffic.

“I thought we decided not to ask each other questions,” she said through gritted teeth.

He glanced down at her from beneath his tall beaver hat. “That would make the afternoon rather dull, don’t you think?”

She wasn’t too sure what to say, for she was still convinced this horrible carriage was going to be her death.

“Why not make it a game to pass the time?” he ventured.

Emmaline slanted a glance at him. Really, how many questions could he ask between Hanover Square and Hyde Park?

“But for each question you ask, I get one of my own,” she told him. “And nothing regarding my identity.”

“Agreed,” he said. Little did she realize then, Sedgwick had no intention of going to Hyde Park. “Ladies first.”

“Oh, no, my lord,” she said, having regained her balance and folded her hands demurely in her lap, regretting that she hadn’t an excuse to continue to hold him. “This is your game. You may have the first volley.”

“Excellent!” he declared. “Where did you learn to decorate?”

At this, she laughed. “I’ve been to some of the nicest houses in England—”

“Twenty-eight, to be exact,” he noted.

“Yes, twenty-eight,” she replied. “And in those houses, I suppose I picked up a sense of what I like and what I don’t like.”

“Yes, and how lucky for me that this acquired taste of yours is so expensive,” he teased.

“I prefer the word elegant,” she told him loftily.

“What do you think about the words beggared, penniless and insolvent?”

She chose to ignore them and instead she jumped into her question, for now he was in her debt.

“Why is it that you aren’t married?” Best to put him on the defensive quickly before he had another chance to pry.

“But I am!” he said smartly.

“Sedgwick!” she said, shoving her elbow into his ribs with a very unladylike nudge. “You know exactly what I mean, and I expect nothing less than the truth.”

“Honestly?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know.”

She looked up at the sky. “If you won’t take this game seriously—”

“No, that is the truth,” he said in all earnestness. “I don’t know. If I did, I assure you I would have wed, if only to end my grandmother’s and my family’s endless hints and suggestions.”

Emmaline tried not to smile. “You do have quite an interesting family.”

“That is an understatement.”

She ventured another question. “Are they all like Hubert?”

Sedgwick laughed. “No. But don’t let that ease your fears. The Denford clan is, shall we say, a rare collection of characters.”

“Is that why the barons always marry so late? Afraid of continuing the line?” This time she was teasing.

“Something like that. My grandfather didn’t marry until he was nearly sixty.” He glanced over at her. “Do you have any family?”

She shot him a hot glance. “I thought we agreed that those sorts of questions—”

“Emmaline, I only wanted to know if you have any relations. Not who they are. I gave you my word.”

She looked away. It was a fair question, but the answer was hard to give. “No.”

“None?”

She shook her head. It wasn’t completely the truth, for she thought her grandmother might still be alive…if the law and fate hadn’t caught up with the old harridan.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She shrugged and asked her next question. “Tell me about Sedgwick Abbey.”

At this he slanted a sideways glance at her. “Don’t get any ideas. You’ll not be sinking your brocade-loving, new-furniture and Italian-painting claws into my ancestral home.”

“Oh, bother that,” she told him. “Just describe it to me.”

And so he did. Telling her with a voice filled with love and attention to detail all about his ancient family seat. Emmaline found herself so enraptured by his descriptions, that
it wasn’t until they were well past the park and headed out of London that she realized for the first time in a long time, she’d been gulled.

“Why, you had no intention of just a simple ride to the park,” she sputtered, glancing over her shoulder at the city gates.

The smug man beside her just grinned.

“This isn’t your way of getting rid of me, is it?” she asked. “Taking me out into the countryside and abandoning me along the way?”

He shook his head. “No, I leave those tasks for Henry.”

“Well, thank goodness I know that now. If Henry ventures to ask me for a picnic, I’ll be sure to refuse!”

They both laughed, and Sedgwick turned the carriage onto the main road. The way straightened out before them, so he gave the spirited pair of horses their freedom. The carriage picked up speed immediately, dizzyingly so.

When Emmaline caught her breath, she peeked up at the baron from beneath the brim of her bonnet. It took her breath away to look at him, he was so utterly handsome. His strong jaw, his chiseled lips, the deep cleft in his chin.

This close to him, she wondered what she’d been thinking to accept his invitation. Let alone how she’d found herself married to such a man.

Then she had to remind herself they weren’t really married and that in a fortnight’s time she’d have to put away the title, the armoire full of clothes, the elegant and newly redecorated house on Hanover Square and, worst of all, she’d have to bid farewell to this man who left her feeling at odds with everything she held dear.

Like her independence. How many times had she left a country house thankful that she’d never be trapped in some
loveless marriage? Not with some overbearing man who liked to make demands and put his foot down at the least little thing.

She smiled a little.
Such as Sedgwick.

But she had to admit that, while their first few encounters had been rather fraught with demands and bluster, suddenly he’d become…well, quite likable.

Take this picnic. Why, he’d practically begged her to come along with him.

Rather than spend the afternoon with Hubert,
her jaded reason complained. A picnic with her was probably the lesser of two evils. But he hardly looked put upon at the moment. He actually looked quite content.

Content?
Oh, no, that would never do. There was no room in their agreement for such a notion. No more than there was for her to allow his matchmaking staff to truss her up in some misguided notion that Baron Sedgwick would fall in love with her. Couldn’t they see how that would never come to bear?

Besides, contentment on Sedgwick’s part had never been part of this reckless bargain. A living, breathing Emmaline was supposed to be leaving him vexed and annoyed.

“Oh, heavens,” she muttered under her breath. “This will never do.”

“What now?” he asked. “Remembered another tradesman due by the house and ripe for you to harangue another few quid out of his profit?”

She tipped her chin up. “I’ll have you know I’ve done a very good job of saving you quite a bit of money.”

“While spending me into the poorhouse,” he laughed back. “You are an incorrigible thief when it comes to those
merchants. Why, you’ll blacken the name of Sedgwick for generations to come.”

“I’d rather fancy that they won’t come to your house overcharging you for second-rate goods.”

He tipped his hat back and grinned at her. “Do you have a ready answer for everything I say?”

“Of course.”

“Then who are you?”

She planted her lips together and shook her head. “And you say I’m incorrigible? I thought we agreed that wasn’t a subject we were going to discuss.”

“Yes, I know, but you can’t fault a man for trying. We are married, after all, and what am I to say to your legions of fans about town when they ask me about you? If I can’t give them some hint as to your likes and dislikes, then they will start to doubt the veracity of our besotted union.”

Emmaline tapped her chin with her fan. “I suppose you have a point there.”

“So,” he began, giving the reins a gentle toss, “what is your favorite color?”

“Green.”

“Just like that?” he asked. “Green?”

“Of course. I think I would know what I like.”

“Is that your favorite color or Emmaline’s?” he asked, his eyes alight with mischief.

“Amazingly enough, we have very similar tastes,” she told him. What a terrible tease he was. She would never have guessed such a thing about him.

“How convenient,” he conceded. “So we have a favorite color of green, which will make buying flowers for you quite convenient.”

“How so?” she asked.

“I can tell the florist to forgo the blossoms and just send you the greenery.”

She nudged him in the ribs. “Some besotted husband you make. That wouldn’t be acceptable in the least.”

“Whyever not?”

“Because if you were my besotted husband you would know that I also like flowers.”

“Yellow roses, I assume?”

“How did you know?” she asked, wondering at him anew. First the teasing, now this.

“You have a charming one on your hat,” he pointed out.

Her hand went up to her brim until her fingers touched the silk flower pinned there. “A lucky guess.”

“Not really,” he said. “I have further proof—the gown you wore last night had yellow roses embroidered around the hem.”

He’d noticed her gown?

“I didn’t think you the type to notice such things.” Dull, stuffy fellows didn’t pay the least bit of attention to what a woman wore.

“A beautiful dress on a beautiful woman, I notice,” he told her.

Emmaline tried to breathe. He thought her beautiful. How many years had she hid behind a severe chignon, spectacles and dull, oversized gowns, the costume of spinsterly companions hired by rich, bored matrons? Once or twice she’d had a sharp-eyed rake see through her disguise, but she’d never believed any of their honeyed compliments that she was truly beautiful.