The Hopeless Hoyden (5 page)

             
“Oh yes, but never like that," was her guileless reply.

             
And that was an understatement, he thought.  He'd never become so lost to his passion, either.  Still, it was nothing he could admit.  "Miss Pendleton, you're quite beyond hope." 

             
Her giggle had a provocative ring to it.  "So I have been told.  But do call me Emily.  Or Em like my brothers do."
              He shook his head to clear away the vision of her lying in his bed, her wild curling tresses splayed about her with a few locks covering the enticing mounds of flesh on her heaving chest.  This woman-child was most definitely dangerous not only to his physical well being but to his bachelorhood as well.  If anyone had come along and espied them thusly, his fate would be sealed. 

             
“Leg-shackled for sure," he muttered under his breath.

             
“What was that, my lord?" she asked, obviously confused by his angry tone.

             
Belatedly, he glanced over the embankment where Cecil had been and saw that his cousin had left.

             
“Come on, Emily.  We'd better return before our absences are marked.  And by Jove, do something with that hair.  You look like some wanton."  He knew he'd hurt her, but his emotions were just as confused and raw as hers appeared.  Her artless response to his lovemaking had completely unnerved him.

             
By no means was he a stranger to the demi monde or married matrons of the
ton
who very willingly bestowed their favors on him.  Add to that, his handsome countenance coupled with wealth and a title made him a prime target for every single lady and all the matchmakers in the realm. 

             
But this young woman was different.  She had given freely, her responses telling him she had been involved as much as he and with no artifice whatsoever.  There had been no coy game to attract his attentions.  She was merely being herself.  Yet, he acknowledged, most gentlemen of his set would be suspicious of a lady of Quality who possessed such a free spirit.  Strangely, it was that very essence of her character that attracted him.

             
And if he were not careful, he would be in a fair way of becoming neatly trapped and by his own hand, at that.

             
Brushing a leaf from her hair, he let a small smile ease the tight lines of his mouth, hoping to soften his words.  "Come on, Em.  It'd be best if we beat my cousin Cecil back, least he becomes suspicious."  She still looked unsure, so he grabbed her hand and gave it a gentle tug.  "Come on," he said, again, but with an even bigger grin.

             
Thus reassured, Emily answered with a smile of her own and allowed him to give her a hand up on Marabell.  She was still confused by her own reactions as well as his.  She should have pushed him away, but she'd been so completely surprised, then swept away with emotions she never knew she possessed.  And she'd been hurt, then angered by his callousness, calling her a wanton for behavior that he'd caused.  Well, it was one more lesson she'd learned and wasn't likely soon to forget.  This man wouldn't get the best of her again.  Resolving to behave herself, she tried to match his dignified manner for the remainder of the ride.

             
By the time they reached Lindemann Park it was close to lunch.  Emily had brought a small valise with a change of clothes since Grace wasn't expected to bring her things until afternoon.  She quickly changed into a becoming jonquil taffeta gown and had a maid tie up her fly away locks with a yellow ribbon.

             
When she entered the dining room, she matched Miss Raines's cordial yet decidedly cool greeting.  Her mother, Lady Raines, likewise, showed little warmth toward Emily.  Both reminded her of the toplofty ladies she'd encountered during her abbreviated London Season.

             
Cecil Caldwell, by contrast, greeted her most warmly though she was sure she'd detected a false note or two.  His dark, handsome features she’d glimpsed at the lake hinted at a sinister side to his character.  His sister, Deborah Caldwell, possessed the same dark coloring as her brother.  But while his lean face presented sharp angles, her high cheek bones, aquiline nose and pointed chin were softer for a classical beauty.  Like Sylvia Raines, Deborah was barely pleasant and ignored her after one assessing glance.

             
Lord Fordyce and Miss Taber, or Jane as she insisted Emily call her, seemed more receptive to her joining their party.  Emily was forced to bite her tongue at one point, however, when Freddy bowed over her hand, then quickly jerked up to catch a heart-shaped patch that had fallen off his pudgy cheek.

             
“Excuse me, Miss Pendleton," Lord Fordyce said with all seriousness.  "Can't keep the deuced, er, the thing pasted on."

             
“No need to apologize, my lord," replied Emily, not trying to hide her smile.  "I do understand what a trial it is to be an arbitrator of fashion."

             
Freddy gave her a suspicious look before he returned her smile. Turning toward the Viscount, he said, "Told you, Gab.  Ain't all a hum."

             
But Gabriel merely rolled his eyes, causing a giggle to escape Emily.

             
Lunch was informal with a light repast laid out on a sideboard in the dining room.  After being served, Emily only half listened to Sylvia Raines's flirtatious banter directed toward the Viscount.  However, when Cecil Caldwell brought up the fishing expedition, Emily's ears perked up. 

             
“With the weather holding," Cecil drawled, leaning back in his chair, "it will be a great afternoon out on the lake.  The ladies can show off their parasols while they protect their delicate complexions from the sun."

             
Gabriel slewed a glance at Emily, who sat straighter in her chair, before he announced, "I regret I must remain behind to be on hand when my other guests arrive."

             
The look Gabriel gave her had been too quick for Emily to decipher, but she willingly took his lead.  "And I came unprepared for such an outing, sir.  My trunks are still at Pendleton."

             
“Sun shades or not," Sylvia added, "the glare off the water is hardly beneficial for a lady's delicate complexion."

             
“So true, my dear," seconded Lady Raines with a deliberate glance at Emily's lightly tanned countenance.
              Left with little choice, Cecil deferred to the wishes of the ladies. “Perhaps another occasion would be better.  With only Freddy and myself, one of you ladies would be forced to row.  But never mind, for it is far more courteous for all of us to be on hand to help Gabriel entertain the new arrivals.  Don't you agree, Deborah?" 

             
There had been a commanding edge to his tone that Emily did not miss, and apparently neither did Cecil’s sister.  Deborah quickly agreed.  "No doubt you are right, brother dear.  You always are."

             
To while away the time, two card tables were set up in the drawing room, and the afternoon was spent in friendly, if somewhat more boisterous than usual, games of chance.  Emily ever loved a challenge and, as in everything else she did, threw herself into the game of hearts.  Much to Lady Raines horror and Gabriel's delight, either an unladylike cry of victory heralded Emily trumping an opponent's face card or an audible moan followed when she was forced to give up a king or a duce.

             
Late afternoon saw a cavalcade of carriages rumbling down the gravel drive.  Lindemann personally went out to greet the weary travelers on the front veranda and ushered them into the drawing room.

             
An older woman swabbed in gray muslin entered first and was closely followed by a young girl while two other gentlemen brought up the rear.  Emily saw the matron in gray and let a loud groan as she came to her feet.
              “Good heavens," cried the older woman, clutching her ample bosom with both hands.  "I need my vinaigrette—quickly, quickly."

             
The young girl accompanying the matron hurried to support her, then solicitously guided the drooping gray figure to a settee.

             
Digging in her reticule, Lady Raines produced a small vial which she thrust toward the girl before asking, "Whatever is the matter, Esmeralda?  I never knew you to be such a poor traveler."

             
“Nor am I," Lady Esmeralda Spivey remarked acidly.  Then, one sausage index finger encased in gray kid leather slowly rose to point at Emily.  "That is the problem!"

***  Chapter 3  ***

             
Mortified, Emily remained rooted to the spot.  Before she could utter a sound or Lady Esmeralda Spivey could say another word, Gabriel was at Emily's side.  He offered Emily the support of his arm as he drew her in the midst of the group surrounding Lady Spivey. 

             
“I had no idea you were acquainted with my guest, Lady Spivey."  His brown gaze locked on the old lady's faded gray eyes while he squeezed Emily's hand to reassure her.  "I, of course, was delighted when Miss Pendleton consented to join us."

             
“Er...yes, Miss Pendleton is my niece."  Fluttering one hand about, Lady Spivey's eyes flew from Gabriel to Emily.  “What a naughty gel you are, Emily dear.  You never told me you would be here."  The old lady's laugh sounded forced and brittle as she turned to the young girl standing next to her.  "You remember my goddaughter, Lady Burke-Whites gel, Prudence?"  At last able to resort to her vinaigrette, she sank back into the cushions of the gold and cream striped sofa and allowed Lindemann to make the rest of the introductions.
              While Lady Raines remained tight-lipped, regarding Emily with a disgusted expression, much to Gabriel's relief the others pretended to take no further notice of the incident.  The moment he saw the color drain from his wood nymph's face, he'd put two and two together.  Recalling Freddy's recounting of Lady Spivey's niece, Gabriel could easily envision Emily gliding around a foyer to the enchanting strings of a waltz with not a thought to the social consequences.  Better than anyone else, he knew the rigid strictures imposed on debutantes of the beau monde would be too confining an atmosphere for one of her spirit.

             
Gabriel introduced the gentlemen, both friends of Lord Fordyce.  Mr. Ellison Trumbell was as fair as Freddy was red and also shared his cousin's penchant for foppish mannerisms.  Emily blinked when Mr. Trumbell rose from his bow.  Somehow she had missed his brilliant yellow and puce waistcoat under his kelly green jacket and brown breeches.

             
Mr. Harry Chesterfield was the more dashing of the trio.  Though average in looks, his athletic build and crisp neat attire attracted feminine glances.  However, the more eligible debutantes of the
ton
turned elsewhere when looking for a husband since Chesterfield was the fourth son of an earl.

             
Although grateful for the Viscount's support, what Emily really wanted was to make herself invisible in a corner of the cavernous room.  She did just that at the first possible moment.  Fortunately, no one paid her the least mind for the rest of the day, which suited her just fine. 

             
After the new arrivals were duly fussed over and settled, it was time to dress for dinner, and Emily still tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible.  When she entered the drawing room, dressed in a soft white silk gown with a high-waisted red sash, she caught sight of the Viscount's gaze following her more than once as she gravitated to a corner couch to sit with Miss Tabor.

             
At the table, Emily was placed between her aunt, who kindly ignored her, and Harry Chesterfield, who kept turning the topic.  First it was the theater, next Almack's, then the balls he'd attended.  All represented places a young debutante would go during a London Season.  Thus, those near to Emily were reminded of her blighted past.  Yet, Emily felt sympathy for him when, after the third remove, he gave her a stricken look when he realized his blunder before turning to Deborah Caldwell on his other side.  Chesterfield, at least, had meant well, and Emily appreciated his kind efforts.

             
After dinner, the ladies adjourned to the drawing room to wait on the gentlemen to finish their port and cigars.  Sylvia and Deborah ran their nimble fingers across the ivory keys of a pianoforte.   Emily took up a post in a wing chair stashed in another corner, her eyes downcast, wishing she'd never agreed to stay the week at the Park.  At the swishing sound of a taffeta gown, she looked up into the sympathetic eyes of Miss Taber.

             
“Do you play, Miss Pendleton?" the young lady asked, taking the matching chair beside Emily.  Though of the same age, Jane's gentle and quiet demeanor lent her years of wisdom next to the impulsive Emily.

             
“No, nor do I sing," replied Emily with a grimace.  When Jane giggled at her feigned repugnance over such refined accomplishments, Emily leaned over the arm of her chair and added in a scathing tone, "And my stitches are always crooked and tangled, my water colors run, and my deportment has best been described as that of a bull in a China shop."