The Second Lady Emily (18 page)

She immediately tracked him down in the stable and broached the subject.

“You’re all about in the head, Cousin,” he exclaimed, breaking into laughter. “I have no interest in Lady Emily, nor she in me. Forget it.”

“Why not? She’s nice enough to look at. Her training is all that is proper. And her dowry will set you up very nicely.”

“I don’t need to marry for money,” he countered, surprising her. “Besides, I’ve already got my eye on a wife.”

“Some tavern wench you met in town?” she scoffed. “Or is it the squire’s daughter?”

“Watch it, Fay. Your mother was a squire’s daughter – or have you forgotten? Not that it matters. I’m looking at Lady Anne. We will suit quite nicely.”

She glared at him. “What fustian is this? No marquess’s daughter is going to look at a landless baron’s heir, especially one from the wilds of America who has little choice but to return there.”

“It is a closer match than a marquess with a baron’s daughter,” he taunted her. “And I have no intention of returning to America. Broadbanks will include Raeburn House in her dowry. Thurston has already expressed regret that your father did not keep it for his heir.”

Shaking with rage, she left him. He would not scuttle her plans. Raeburn House was hers! And he must move far away. Something about Frederick disturbed her. Perhaps his incessant stare. His eyes were too perceptive. She could not allow him to live close by.

Whatever his thinking, he had not yet acted. Rumor would have reported if he were paying court to Anne, so she had time to counter this threat. Talking to Drew was her best option. He would counsel Broadbanks to turn down any suit. And Raeburn House must be put in her name before the wedding.

But that would not be enough. Frederick must take Emily off her hands. Since he wouldn’t do it willingly, she had to maneuver him into compromising the chit.

* * * *

Anne was at home to visitors, finally giving Cherlynn a chance to question the local gossips.

As Grace helped her into an afternoon gown and arranged her hair, Cherlynn set aside her nervousness. “Have you heard any new tales of Miss Raeburn?”

“It ain’t right to pry,” protested the maid. “Accept that he won’t ever be yours.”

“We’ve been over this too many times, Grace. Blame that horrid messenger if you must, but I must do this. If Drew prefers Fay, I can live with that, but I won’t drop my investigation until I know he will be happy with her. Now what did you learn?”

“She’s a bad one to cross, Lady Emily,” said the maid with a resigned sigh. “Few people will discuss her at all. She turned off one of the housemaids last spring. The girl had a broken arm, but refused to say how it happened. I don’t doubt Miss Raeburn was responsible, but nobody will say it right out.”

That fit Cherlynn’s image of Fay, but without evidence, it didn’t do her much good.

“Does she have any friends?”

“Not that I can find. I saw her talking to one of the Broadbanks tenants yesterday, but like as not they was only exchanging greetings.”

Cherlynn couldn’t picture Fay being friendly with inferiors. “Who was it?”

“Jaime Potts. He’s a big man, all dark and broody. But he just mumbled a few words and took hisself off. I was too far away to hear what he said.”

Jaime Potts. She’d heard the name before. The gamester whose luck had turned. A man had been lurking in the woods just beyond the gardens that morning. Jaime? The description fit well enough.

Ridiculous.
She had spotted that man several times, so he was probably a groundskeeper. Between farming and gaming, Potts wouldn’t have time to hang around Broadbanks.

Setting her questions about Fay aside, she focused on Regency decorum. Attending a gossip session would provide invaluable research. But she must be careful how she probed Fay’s activities, and not just because Fay would retaliate for any perceived threat. Lady Travis would be one of the visitors. Every word Emily said would be disseminated to the
ton,
which would affect the girl’s reputation.

Cherlynn vowed to be the shyest, most retiring maiden in history, and not just on her own account. Even Emily would have had something to hide from the notorious snoop. She could not disclose Emily’s love, Drew’s proposal, or Fay’s blackmail. Fay’s reputation didn’t count, of course, but Cherlynn’s mistakes could redound on Drew. And on Emily herself.

Fortunately, by the time Lady Travis arrived, half a dozen other callers graced the drawing room. Cherlynn had quietly accepted felicitations on her recovery, though more than one voice was tinged with censure for her having fallen to begin with.

Lady Travis’s arrival was like letting a hurricane into the room, interrupting new speculation on Jaime Potts’s sudden solvency. “I see you have recovered from your fall, Lady Emily,” she observed after the most perfunctory of greetings to Anne.

“Quite,” said Cherlynn.

“She is still weak, however,” said Anne. “Dr. McClarren believes full recovery will take until fall.”

“What fustian,” said Lady Clifford, pursing her lips in disapproval. The woman had never believed in Emily’s amnesia, declaring that the girl was simply making herself interesting and that once Emily decided to recover, she would. “Has the Regent retired to Brighton yet?”

“Last week,” confirmed Lady Travis. “Will you be going there yourself?”

“Lady Ledbetter requested that we visit. A few weeks in Brighton will be excellent preparation for London’s autumn activities.”

Cherlynn tried to kept her face calm, but inwardly she grimaced. Emily’s memory wasn’t all that Lady Clifford expected to control. By announcing plans Charles had not yet accepted, she believed that he would have to comply. And he might. She couldn’t figure out Emily’s brother. He vacillated between genuine concern for her condition and rigid propriety that disapproved of her behavior, especially her calf love for Thurston. He had not put the infatuation into words since he had accepted her amnesia, but it lurked beneath his restrictions – she was to avoid the library, never leave the house without a maid, and pass the time with either Lady Clifford or Lady Anne. Fortunately, he trusted her to obey, so he hadn’t actually watched her. She had twice ridden alone with Drew, something Charles would never condone.

So Charles was an enigma. She could do nothing to counter Lady Clifford’s manipulation except feign continued weakness. Any protests would send Charles for the carriage. If she admitted she must stay near Drew, he would drag her away instantly. But she had no other valid reason for remaining at Broadbanks.

She had missed considerable gossip. Woolgathering would hardly accomplish her research. But even as she pulled her mind back to the drawing room, the discussion of Mrs. Monroe’s niece ceased as Fay arrived. That covetous gaze raked the room while Hardwick announced her. Fury briefly glinted in her eyes to find Emily part of the group, but she turned to Anne for the usual polite greetings.

Cherlynn effaced herself even further. She had no desire to speak to Fay. Instead, she set her mind to discovering how the various women interacted. The callers included both gentry and aristocracy, ranging from the vicar’s wife to Lady Anne. But rank wasn’t everything. Lady Travis, baronet’s widow, wielded more power than Viscountess Portrill, and even the vicar’s wife was more respected than Fay, a baron’s daughter.

Lady Travis quizzed Fay on her wedding plans. The girl’s triumphant smirk turned to cold determination when the gossip cut her short.

“Your father’s condition will postpone the happy event, of course,” Lady Travis said firmly.

Fay jumped. “I doubt it. He is holding his own at present.”

“I am surprised that you chose to call this afternoon rather than see after his welfare,” said Mrs. Monroe primly. “Rumor places him at death’s door.”

“Or beyond it,” murmured Lady Portrill.

The undercurrents in the room raised goose bumps on Cherlynn’s arms. Every lady present despised Fay, but she retained enough credit to be received. Yet it was odd that she had come today. With her father reportedly unconscious and barely breathing, Fay courted censure by her careless disregard. Had she come because of Emily? But that made little sense.

“An exaggeration,” said Fay coolly. “While he remains confined to bed, he has recovered much of his movement. His valet is sitting with him at present. And my cousin.”

Introducing Frederick succeeded in diverting attention to his background and plans. Miss Langley recalled the romantic summer during which Lord Raeburn and Frederick’s father had fallen in love with the Ryder twins, marrying them in a double ceremony after a whirlwind courtship. That led to speculation on how Hope had adapted to the wilds of America. Cherlynn kept her mouth shut, watching the interplay of personalities and the adept way Anne kept tempers under control.

The afternoon added new questions to Cherlynn’s list. Mentioning Lord Raeburn had displeased Fay. Or perhaps his illness enraged her. The man’s death would affect her plans – unless she was willing to flout convention by marrying during deep mourning. Would Fay take such a chance? It could ostracize her from local society. Yet postponing the wedding would give Drew time to investigate her activities. And Broadbanks’s death would remove the sword she was holding over Drew’s head. Would his credit cloak her once they were wed? Not a woman in the room approved of her – which meant Drew’s own reputation should survive when he jilted her.

At least locally. She hid a frown. Logic did not always count in the Regency period. Anyone who did not know Fay – and that included most of the
ton
– would hear only that he had broken off the betrothal. Thus Cherlynn had to find proof of something so heinous that no one would question his action. Mistreating servants wouldn’t do it. Even Fay’s affair with Randolph might not.

* * * *

Once the last caller left, Lady Clifford accompanied Cherlynn upstairs. It was hardly unexpected. She had been staring daggers ever since Cherlynn had refused to back up her summer plans. Thus it was no surprise when she launched into a tirade.

“Enough of wallowing in weakness,” she snapped the moment they reached Emily’s room. “No lady reveals her inadequacies to the world. Nor does she allow bad manners to show in public. I was most displeased with your performance today.”

“Why?”

“Why! You shook your head when I spoke of moving to Brighton. How dare you contradict your own mother?”

“I will not lie,” Cherlynn stated coldly. “You know very well that Charles plans to remain until Lord Thurston’s wedding, and that Dr. McClarren refuses to authorize any travel. He fears the jostling will make this memory loss permanent.”

“Ingrate. You would accept the word of a charlatan who cannot explain the very condition he claims you suffer. I have known you since birth! The only thing wrong with your memory is a missish refusal to cooperate. Obstreperous girl! You know your duty, yet you pretend ailments to avoid it.”

“Would you care to state that in plain English?” she retorted, furious at the woman’s antagonism. She had put up with similar determination in her youth. Her mother had always wanted to be an actress and had tried to live that fantasy through her daughter, forcing her into dance classes, music lessons, and countless theatrical auditions. But at least she had eventually accepted that Cherlynn lacked the looks, the talent, and the interest that were necessary for success. She finally quit pushing, though she never fully approved of her daughter’s real interests. But Lady Clifford didn’t even give Emily a chance to protest – something Cherlynn had never thanked her own mother for – instead, planning everything for Emily, right down to the identity of the girl’s husband. Poor Emily. After years under this woman’s thumb, she would have no idea how to take charge of her life.

“You must find a husband,” declared Lady Clifford, confirming her suspicions. “Already you are eighteen. Charles should have insisted you come out last Season. I yielded to your pleading then, but no more. I will not tolerate this unnatural desire to avoid town.”

Cherlynn said nothing. Arguing could only make matters worse. Lady Clifford’s mind was as tightly closed as Fort Knox. Emily had probably refused a Season because she had not yet caught Drew’s attention. But she could hardly defend the girl without revealing her relationship with Drew.

“There is more at stake here than your supposed memory loss,” continued Lady Clifford firmly. “We must escape this accursed place before you are ruined. Your reputation is already tarnished. In another month it will be in shreds.”

“Why? Surely you, Charles, and Anne are sufficient to lend me countenance.”

“That’s just what I mean. This house is exerting a vulgar influence on you. Never before have you countered my direction, yet you now dispute every word I say. You will never find a husband if you put yourself forward to such a degree.”

Damn! What was she to say to that? Cherlynn paced the floor trying to decide how to respond without giving either Emily or herself away. If her quest succeeded, Emily would wed Drew. If it failed, she doubted Emily would wed anyone.

“Sit still,” ordered Lady Clifford. “Ladies do not display agitation. It is quite apparent that Lords Broadbanks and Thurston have exerted an unbecoming influence on you. They cannot be the gentlemen I presumed – in fact, Charles should sever the connection, and will when he understands how precarious your reputation now is.”

“What horrid thing have I done now?” she muttered, perching uncomfortably on the couch, knees together and back straight. Sprawling was her preferred pose.

“Miss Raeburn saw you riding with Lord Thurston the other day – without a groom!”

“And how did she decide we were unaccompanied?” Cherlynn countered, though it was the truth. “She never approached us, never even came near enough that we spotted her.” So that was why Fay had called – to apply more pressure on Lady Clifford. The woman was too easy to manipulate, at least for Fay’s purposes.

“Are you saying she lied?” demanded Lady Clifford. “So amiable a lady would never dream of it.”

“I would rather suggest that she was mistaken, catching only a fleeting glimpse when the groom was hidden by trees or lost in a fold of land. She does not know me well enough to rule out unconventional behavior.”