Substitute Bride

by Laurel Lampherd


© copyright by Laurel Lampherd, Dec. 2001
1-58608-308-2
New Concepts Publishing
www.newconceptspublishing.com

 


Chapter One

 

"Do you like my painting, Mr. Pollitt?" Emma Napier asked when she came into the morning room and saw Oliver Pollitt examining an oil painting above the fireplace. 

He turned to face her. "It's quite nice, but why did you paint it in oils?" 

Emma smiled at his criticism. "I thought the subject needed a stronger medium than watercolors." 

The painting depicted a group of gypsies congregating around a campfire in a clearing. Beyond them, against the darkness of the trees, the shapes of caravans were reflected in the yellow light of the fire. The gypsy in the forefront of the painting possessed a strong, willful face and dark hair, and his white teeth showed in a mocking smile. He was tall and his body, though slender, was strong and virile looking.

He stood, hand on hip, gazing insolently at Mr. Pollitt, so Mr. Pollitt thought.

Mr. Pollitt’s lips tightened in disapproval. He thought a gypsy wasn't a fit subject for a young woman to paint. Miss Napier would do better to concentrate on painting roses. "Who is he?" he asked at last.

"I've forgotten his name. I copied him from a likeness in one of the journals. Of course, he wasn't a gypsy but looked to be of the first consequence." 

Mr. Pollitt was prevented from answering by the arrival of Mrs. Purse with the tea tray.

Emma took the tray from the elderly woman who used to be her nurse. "You should have sent one of the maids with it, nanny," she scolded as she carried the tray to a low table in front of several easy chairs. "It's too heavy for you." On the table was a vase of daffodils. "Would you mind removing the vase, Mr. Pollitt?" Emma asked.

Mrs. Purse, old woman that she was, was quicker and had taken hold of the vase a moment before him. "It’s a family heirloom," she said, oblivious to his annoyance as she carefully carried it to a corner table.

Mr. Pollitt thought Miss Napier shouldn't allow the old nurse such liberties and was determined when he and Miss Napier were married, Mrs. Purse wouldn't form a member of his household. With this vengeful thought, he accepted the tea Emma handed him.

"Is there anything else you need, my little lady?" Mrs. Purse asked, calling Emma by an endearment from her babyhood.

"No, thank you, nanny."

The old woman shuffled to the door, leaving it ajar as she went out.

Mr. Pollitt thought crossly he wasn't likely to make improper advances to Miss Napier over the tea table. Far better for Mrs. Purse to prevent her former nursling from painting wild imaginative subjects not at all suitable for a young lady of gentle birth. He took a cucumber sandwich from the dish Emma offered and his offended feelings were somewhat mollified when she asked. "Are you attending Mrs. March's card party tomorrow evening, Mr. Pollitt?"

"I have the pleasure of saying I am. I hope you and I will be partners at the same table."

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Before the maid could announce him, Gerald Myers entered the room. Ignoring Mr. Pollitt, he moved towards Emma and, taking her hand in his, said as he looked soulfully into her eyes. "I hope you are well, my dear Emma?"

She tried to disengage her fingers from his grasp, but Gerald held on tightly. Pulling free with a jerk, she snapped. "I'm quite well, thank you, Gerald." She saw Mr. Pollitt watching inquisitively and added in a sweeter tone for his benefit. "This is a surprise visit, Gerald."

"A pleasant one I hope." Gerald's voice was low with what he thought was desire.

She was exasperated by his affectations, yet she could see the humor of his sudden attachment for her. It was only since his return from college six months earlier to learn the management of the Manor estate under his capable parent the squire that Gerald had conceived this desperate passion for her. It was a role very different from the playmate who had lost his temper after a childish argument and pushed her into the brook at the bottom of the Lansdown orchard.

"I didn't expect to see you here, Uncle Oliver." Gerald looked irked at finding his uncle at Lansdown.

Mr. Pollitt too, was anything but pleased at his nephew's arrival and less at his greeting as uncle. He was only thirty-eight, sixteen years older than Emma, an age difference he thought quite suitable between husband and wife. He considered it gave a husband a certain superiority over his spouse.

"Will you have some tea, Gerald?" Emma invited as she set an extra cup and saucer on the tea table.

"Yes, thank you." Gerald tried to unobtrusively pat the necktie he wore. He had spent an hour before leaving the Manor, endeavoring to copy the elaborate design he had seen illustrated in the latest edition of the journal he had sent to him from London and had ruined half a dozen neckties in doing so. He wished he had taken time to check it in the hall mirror instead of rushing along behind the maid to Emma's sitting room. If he and Emma were alone, he would have no hesitation in asking what she thought of the set of it but he had no intention of asking such a question with his uncle present.

While visiting at the Derries, he had cautiously inquired of Abby Derries whether his necktie was set properly but Abby, who was hastily scribbling a note in the hall, was in no mood for such frivolities. She uncivilly brushed aside his question as if it was of no importance and thrust the note at him, begging him to deliver it to Emma.

Gerald was offended at her lack of interest in his latest creation. It was only when he saw the misery in her brown eyes that he forgot his own concerns. He was about to ask what was amiss when Arthur Derries called from the drawing room, demanding to know what the devil was keeping his niece.

Gerald now pulled the note from the inside pocket of his coat and handed it to Emma. "Abby gave me this to give to you."

"I believe the Derries have a London visitor," Mr. Pollitt remarked, who didn’t visit at Clapham. He'd had strong words with Arthur Derries during a previous visit to Little Gosford.

"So I've heard," Emma said as she and Mr. Pollitt looked expectantly at Gerald.

"He is Mr. Adrian Weaverham of London," Gerald told them. He felt superior in the knowledge he was one of a few who had met the celebrated Mr. Weaverham of whom all of Little Gosford was talking. His hand went again to pat his necktie in position. Mr. Weaverham's necktie was tied in the Waterfall mode, a style Gerald had endeavored to perfect without success.

"I didn't know the Derries were intimate with any London people," said Emma. "Mr. Derries hardly ever leaves Little Gosford, and then it's only to take the waters at Bath. How long is Mr. Weaverham staying with the Derries?"

"I don't know. I scarcely exchanged a word with him. You know how Mr. Derries holds forth." Gerald didn't want to admit how inferior the Derries London visitor’s suave London manners and sophisticated urbanity made him feel.

Abby had done nothing to aid his awkwardness either. She had sat there like a zombie with nothing to say. Mrs. Derries was equally unhelpful. She looked and behaved more like a frightened rabbit than what she usually did, but it was Mr. Derries behavior which astounded Gerald.

Everyone in the district acknowledged Arthur Derries was an old tyrant who terrified his wife and niece with his moods and ill humors but in Mr. Weaverham's company there was no sign of his surliness to be seen except occasionally when he forgot himself in some annoyance with his wife or niece. Mr. Derries hung on to every word Mr. Weaverham said, laughing ingratiating at his wit even when there was some suggestion of it ridiculing Mr. Derries himself.

"When are you going to London, Gerald?" Emma asked.

"The Hunts are leaving at the end of the month." 

"To my mind, London is a den of iniquity," said Mr. Pollitt. "No one with any sense would go there." 

Gerald was about to retort angrily when Emma hurriedly interrupted. "Do you visit there often, Mr. Pollitt?"

"Occasionally," he prevaricated, not wanting to tell her he hadn't been to London more than three times in his life. 

"Why don't you come to London, Emma?" Gerald asked. "You could stay with that aunt of yours. You say she's always issuing invitations for you to visit."

"I'm sure Miss Napier doesn't wish to go to London," Mr. Pollitt interrupted.

"But I do, Mr. Pollitt." Emma made up her mind in an instant. "I plan to meet my brother there when he returns from Vienna next month."

Gerald's eyes glinted with excitement. "You haven't said anything about that before. What fun we'll have. You and I may yet stand up at Almacks together." 

Mr. Pollitt thought Miss Napier only encouraged his nephew in his infatuation. He wondered if his sister knew of her son's unsuitable attachment. If not, he was determined to apprise her of it at the first opportunity and it was with this thought he took his leave.

"Thank goodness that old bore has gone," Gerald said after Mr. Pollitt's departure.

"Gerald!" Emma reproved.

"Surely you don't care for my uncle?" Gerald was incredulous. "He drives my mother to distraction with his proselytizing and the Squire can't stand him at any cost."

"He doesn't worry me." Emma turned over the letter Abby had written. "I suppose your uncle will be leaving Little Gosford soon?"

Gerald was gloomy. "I think he plans to stay forever."

Emma stifled a laugh. "Never mind. You'll be escaping to London soon." She ripped open the envelope and pulled the single sheet of note paper from it, frowning as she read. "Will you meet me by the old well at five o'clock? It's imperative I speak to you. I'll go mad if I don't."

Emma glanced at the little gold embossed clock standing on the mantelpiece. Half past four. It would take more than half an hour to change and ride over to the Lansdown Clapham boundary. Whatever possessed the placid natured Abby to write such a letter? "How was Abby when you saw her?" she asked Gerald.

He glanced up from studying the tassels on his riding boots. "All right, I suppose." Seeing her concern, he asked. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know. She wants me to meet her by the old well."

"What does she want you to meet her for?"

"She doesn't say."

"I wager it has something to do with that London toff."

"Mr. Weaverham!"

Gerald nodded. "I could see she didn't care for him and his superior airs. I was suspicious of him from the first because of the way he tied his neck cloth."

"What's that got to do with it?" Emma demanded as she pulled on the bell rope to summon a maid.

Gerald looked affronted. "It has everything. A recent article in the journal, which I have sent to me from London each month, declares the character of a man can be determined by the set of his neck cloth." 

"How ridiculous." Emma turned to the maid who had come into the room. "Would you ask Ribble to saddle my mare, please Mollie?"

Gerald forgot his role of suitor. "How can you say that? You haven't read the article."

"I don't wish to read such nonsense either. I'm sorry, Gerald, but I'll have to leave. I must change into my riding habit."

"You mean you're actually going?"

"I must. Abby is expecting me."

"It's so late."

"What else should I do?"

"You could send a groom with a message saying you'll visit her tomorrow." 

"It's too late for that. She’ll have left home by the time the groom arrived."

"You might run into a poacher."

"A poacher would more likely get out of my way than accost me." Before he could reply, she had left the room.

Abby was already waiting at the old well when Emma arrived. "I'm sorry I'm late," Emma apologized as she dismounted and tethered the mare to a post near the well. "I had Gerald and Mr. Pollitt to tea." She stopped her chatter, startled by her friend's worn expression. "Why, what’s wrong, Abby?"

Abby burst into tears. "I'm sorry I had to ask you to meet me so late in the day, but it was the only time I could get away."

"Never mind that. Tell me what's wrong," Emma said again as she placed an arm around Abby's slender shoulders. 

"Everything." Abby pulled a handkerchief from the sleeve of her dress and dabbed at her reddened eyes.

"Tell me about it."

Twisting the damp handkerchief, Abby began in a trembling voice. "Do you know an acquaintance of my uncle is staying with us?"

"Gerald did mention him." Emma's green eyes twinkled. "I think your visitor has put him out of countenance with his London clothes and manners."

Abby smiled wanly. "Mr. Weaverham is everything Gerald would wish to be, but then he's much older. It's only natural he'd be more sophisticated. Uncle Arthur has a great regard for him and I must too if it wasn't.... if it wasn't..." She stopped and began to sob into her handkerchief. 

Emma put an arm around her shoulders. "Don't cry. Tell me what's wrong."

Abby lifted her head to stare at Emma before saying among her sobs. "It's awful. I don't know how I can bear it."

"Bear what?" Emma asked patiently.

"My uncle thinks I should marry him."

"Marry him!"

Abby nodded, unable to speak as tears again filled her brown eyes. 

"How do you know Mr. Weaverham wishes to marry you?"

"He hasn't asked me, if that's what you mean. It's my uncle who says I must marry him. He says it's a wonderful opportunity for me."

"Do you want to?" Emma's voice was faint.

Abby shook her head.

"Mr. Weaverham must hardly know you."

"Perhaps it's my uncle's money which attracts him?"

Was Mr. Derries very rich? Emma glanced at Abby's woebegone face. She supposed he might be. Though the Derries only had a small property at Little Gosford, she had heard her brother, Richard, remark old Mr. Derries held gilt shares in certain things and Abby would be quite an heiress one day. "How did Mr. Weaverham come to stay with your uncle?" Emma asked as she pondered the thought of a London swell being a friend of the churlish Mr. Derries.

"His carriage lost a wheel while passing through Little Gosford. Uncle Arthur had met him several years ago in Bath and invited him to stay with us if ever he should be in Little Gosford."

How unfortunate for Abby that Mr. Weaverham's vehicle chose to break down near Little Gosford. No one in their right senses would wish to be a house guest of Mr. Derries. Did Mr. Weaverham want to marry Abby? Or was it just a fancy of her uncle's? "Maybe when Mr. Weaverham's carriage is fixed, he'll be on his way and it will be the last you'll see of him." 

"You don't understand, Emma. The carriage wheel was soon mended. He could have left three days ago."

"Then you'll have to tell your uncle you don't want to marry him."

"How can I? You know how unpleasant Uncle Arthur can be. And Aunt Ada is petrified he'll get into one of his rages. She spends most of the day in her room. I don't know what to do." Abby hid her face in her hands.

Emma looked pitying at her. How awful it must be for her, having to bear the brunt of entertaining Mr. Weaverham and keeping her uncle content.

"You must stay at Lansdown until Mr. Weaverham has left and your uncle come to his senses."

Abby was shocked out of her misery by Emma's suggestion. "What about Aunt Ada? And think of the gossip it would cause. Uncle Arthur would be apoplectic and what must Mr. Weaverham think of me?"

"What Mr. Weaverham thinks should be the least of your concerns."

Abby fumbled for a handkerchief and blew her nose. "I suppose my uncle means it for the best. I suppose I must marry one day. What else is there for a woman to do?"

Emma hadn't given marriage a thought, but she supposed she, too, would marry, though she had never met anyone she wanted to marry. "I think for now, you should leave your uncle's house." She paused with another idea looming. "You should leave Little Gosford."

Abby was surprised out of her wretchedness. "Where would I go?" 

"We could go to London. Yes, that would be the best idea. You and I could stay at my brother’s lodgings. You must contrive to leave home without your uncle knowing."

"How can I? And how would we get to London?"

"That's what we must decide now." Emma thought quickly. "I'm supposed to be attending Mrs. March's card evening tomorrow night. Are you going?"

"You know my uncle and Mrs. March aren't on speaking terms."

"I'd forgotten. How fortunate your uncle had that row with Mrs. March last winter and tomorrow will be the best time for me. I'll pretend to leave for Mrs. March's but instead, you and I will board the London coach at Chippendale."

Abby was horrified. "What will Mrs. Purse say?"

"She'd say a lot if she knew, but I shan't tell her. I'll leave a note explaining everything."

"I wish I dared tell Uncle Arthur that I don't want to marry Mr. Weaverham."

Emma sighed. Abby and her aunt's gentle ways only fostered and encouraged Arthur Derries tyrannical nature. "Don't worry about it. Think of the fun we'll have in London. We'll be able to visit the art galleries and go to the theater. The London coach leaves the White Hart Inn in Chippendale tomorrow afternoon. I know because one of our servants went on it last week to visit his mother, who is ailing. We'll need a conveyance to get us there. I daren't order the Lansdown carriage so Gerald will have to help. You must pretend to have a headache tomorrow afternoon. You look ill enough to go to bed for a week. Gerald and I will meet you at the big oak. Now I must go else nanny will have the servants out looking for me."

Emma let the mare make her own way home. The confidence she had shown Abby, had vanished. What had she done? To airily make plans to leave Lansdown without anyone knowing when she couldn't go for a late afternoon ride by herself without upsetting her household? She should inform the servants to prepare the Lansdown carriage, pick Abby up at the old oak tree and continue on to London. She smiled nervously as she imagined the consternation of the Lansdown servants if she were to do so. No, it would have to be the London coach.

The next morning, after a sleepless night, she sent a message by one of the grooms to be delivered to Gerald at the Manor.

When he arrived at Lansdown, he was shown into the morning room where Emma appeared a few minutes later. She looked harassed and brushed aside his affectionate greeting. "I thought you'd never come." 

He was offended. "I had trouble getting away. The Squire took exception to me being absent yesterday and reeled off a homily about never being home."

"I'm sorry." But Emma was too immersed in her own difficulties to sound repentant. She took a deep breath. "I need your help, or at least," she corrected. "Abby needs your help." In as few a words as possible, she told him what had passed between her and Abby.

Gerald was flabbergasted. "Go to London," he echoed. "You and Abby! By yourselves! On the London coach!" 

Emma was impatient. "How else should we get there without Mr. Derries knowing? You must borrow your father's carriage and take us to Chippendale to meet the coach this afternoon."

Gerald reeled in shock. He didn't want to tell her he was barred from driving the Manor carriage, which had just been repaired after he had driven it too close to a gatepost and damaged a wheel. "What excuse am I to give? Papa will want to know what has happened to the Lansdown carriage."

It was true, Emma thought. The Squire was a wily character, who had seen through many of their youthful subterfuges.

"Why can't Abby tell her uncle she doesn't want to marry the fellow?" Gerald grumbled. "You wouldn’t catch me marrying anyone I didn’t want."

If Abby had, the Derries household would be in an uproar. Abby might be too distracted to cancel the plans they had made. Emma toyed with the idea of sending a groom to Clapham but was hampered by not knowing what message to send with him. It wouldn't do for the note to fall into Mr. Derries hands. "Should you call in at the Derries on your way home and see what is happening?" she asked Gerald. 

Gerald was alarmed. When his will was thwarted, Arthur Derries had an unfair way of castigating everyone within his vicinity. "I don't think that's a good idea. It might make Mr. Derries suspicious."

"Perhaps you're right," Emma conceded. "But until we know what Abby is about, we should go on as if the journey to London is a certain thing."

Gerald agreed reluctantly and left Lansdown, wondering how he was going to keep his promise to take Emma and Abby to Chippendale. 

That afternoon, Mrs. Purse entered the sitting room where Emma waited for Gerald. "Aren't you going to order the carriage?" she asked.

"Didn't I tell you?" Emma tried to sound nonchalant. "Mrs. Myers has invited me to spend the night at the Manor and to accompany them to Mrs. March's card evening." She stifled her guilt at deceiving her old nurse.

"No, you didn't tell me." Mrs. Purse sounded nettled. "How are you going to the Myers?"

"Gerald is driving me to the Manor." Emma glanced out of the window overlooking the driveway and wished he would hurry.

Mrs. Purse straightened several daffodils in the vase. "I don't like you driving with Master Gerald."

"I'll make sure he drives carefully." Emma was relieved to see a carriage rounding the bend in the driveway. "There's Gerald now." She picked up the valise containing her toilet things and nightclothes and went into the hall.

Mrs. Purse followed her through the hall and onto the porch. She stopped in amazement at the sight of a ramshackle carriage and two sad looking horses in front of the stone steps. "Surely that vehicle doesn't belong to the Squire," she cried.

Gerald heard her as he jumped from his perch."The carriage we usually drive has a broken wheel," he told her haughtily.

Mrs. Purse wasn't listening. She was still staring in disbelief at the carriage. "I would never have believed the Squire possessed such a vehicle." 

Gerald glared at her."It's of very solid construction even if it doesn't look so flash." To prove his point, he thumped the side of the carriage, causing the elderly horses to move forward in alarm.

Emma bit her lip to stop from laughing. "Don't fuss so, nanny." She handed Gerald her valise and kissed Mrs. Purse on the cheek, again adjuring her not to worry. 

"I hope poor nanny won't be too upset and suffer a seizure when she discovers I've gone to London," she worried as they drove off.

"She's too tough for that," Gerald retorted, Mrs. Purse's disapproval still rankling with him.

Emma looked ahead at the old horses, trotting as fast as they were able. "Where did you get this contraption?" she asked.

"I hired it from the Jeffries farm. Old man Jeffries, the old rogue, charged me far in excess of what it was worth."

They reached the boundary between Clapham and Lansdown. Rounding the bend in the road, they peered ahead and tried to discover Abby's figure beneath the huge oak standing out darkly against the skyline. "I can't see her," Gerald said. "Perhaps she's changed her mind." 

Emma tried to quench the treacherous longing he might be right.

"She isn't there," Gerald began as they drew level, but as he reigned in the horses, a slight figure stepped from the great oak's protective cover.

"I thought you'd never come," Abby cried as she reached them.

"Gerald had difficulty in procuring a conveyance," Emma explained. She glanced up and down the road; fearful a neighbor might come along.

With the same thought, Gerald jumped down and helped Abby into the carriage and tossed her small bag in behind. He climbed onto the seat again and whipped the old horses into as fast a trot as they could manage.

The London coach was already harnessed with fresh horses and ready to leave when Gerald pulled in his failing horses outside the posting inn at Chippendale. He thrust the reins into Emma's hands and ran to the coach.

"I hope there's room for us," said Emma. She didn't know whether she would be disappointed or relieved if they should have to return to Little Gosford. 

Gerald was back. "The driver said he can make two seats available." 

The coach driver, a burly man dressed in cap, earmuffs and greatcoat, waited for them. He almost bodily lifted Emma and Abby into the coach and without waiting to see them seated, shut the door firmly after them.

Emma was squeezed in between a plump woman and a man whose broad shoulders seemed to fill half the width of the coach. Abby, she saw, was squashed in between another pair of brawny men. As the coach lumbered off, Emma glanced out of the window to wave goodbye to Gerald, but all she saw were the trees and the inn. As the driver turned the horses, she caught a glimpse of the carriage Gerald had hired to bring them to Chippendale.

They had been traveling several hours when Abby leant across to Emma. "I think I'm going to have a migraine," she whispered in anguish.

Emma looked at her in horror. Abby's migraines were monstrous to contemplate. Rendered incapacitated by pain, she was forced to retire to her room until the attack had passed. Emma knew it was imperative to get off the coach and take a room at an inn until Abby was well enough to continue the journey. With this thought, she inquired of the woman seated next to her how far it was to the next stop.

"I don't know, missy. This be the first time I travelled on the coach."

"The next stop be Wisback," said the man who was seated on the other side of Emma. "We should be nearly there."

"Is there an inn at Wisback?"

The man looked speculatively at her. "It isn't the sort of place where God fearing people stay, missy. You be better keeping away from there."

"What am I to do then?" Emma asked. "My friend is ill."

The passengers looked at her before turning their glances to Abby, who shrank against the seat.

"You be better to keep on to Quedgely," the man continued beside Emma. "It be only be eight miles further past Wisbeck and the coach stops there the night." 

"Do you think you could manage another eight miles, Abby?" Emma pleaded.

Abby shook her head.

Some minutes later, the coach drew to a halt outside a dilapidated building set back from the road in amid a patch of unkempt shrubbery. A passenger let down a window and shouted to the driver that the young ladies wanted to get off.

The driver opened the coach door. "What's this I hear about the young ladies wanting to stop off here?" he asked.

"My friend is ill," Emma explained as she assisted Abby to her feet. "She can't travel any further."

The coachman gazed at them a moment before helping Emma down and lifting Abby from the coach. As he placed their bags on the road beside them, he said. "This be no place for young ladies to stay. You be on your way tomorrow by the eight o'clock coach if the young missy be well enough to travel." With these words of advice, the driver, for all his bulkiness, sprang onto the box with the agility of a cat and with a flourish of whips, drove off.

As Emma watched the coach disappear, she felt more desolate than ever. She placed an arm around Abby, saying with a composure she didn't feel. "We must see if we can hire a bed for the night."

The tiny hall inside the building was ill lit by a single lamp. Abby sat heavily on a straight-backed chair while Emma turned to the innkeeper, who had appeared behind the shabby desk. "I wish to hire a room," she told him. 

The innkeeper's voice was blunt. "We haven't a room available. You should have gone on to Quedgely."

Emma felt an instant dislike for the little man. "My friend took ill on the coach and was unable to continue the journey."

The innkeeper glanced dispassionately at Abby, who drooped on the chair.

Emma began to feel uneasy. If they were refused a room, what would they do? "I can sit until morning," she told the innkeeper. "But my friend must have a bed."

At the sound of a door opening on the landing above, the innkeeper glanced past her. 

Emma turned to follow his gaze.

A tall, slender man was slowly and carefully making his way down the narrow staircase. As he reached the bottom step, she recoiled in shock. The stranger was the image of her black haired gypsy.



 


Chapter Two

 

"You surely don't think it will work, Nick?" Young Lord James Temby was skeptical as he reached unsteadily for the bottle of wine on the small table between him and the Marquis of Desborough.

"Can you think of another way of gaining control of my inheritance?" Desborough gazed at Lord James with interest.

Lord James shook his head. "That's not to say there isn't one. Why don't you ask that man of yours? He's a dashed clever fellow and is sure to fix up some scheme, which won't be as chancy as this."

At the mention of his secretary, Desborough frowned and glanced at his watch. 

Lord James went on. "It was unfair of your grandfather to stipulate you can't have control of your fortune until you're thirty."

"Which is two years off." Desborough's hand steadied as he refilled his wine glass.

"Or until you marry," Lord James continued as if Desborough hadn't spoken. "But to marry a milkmaid! Why don't you marry one of the debutantes the society mamas are flinging at your head?"

"For the same reason you don't. I don't wish to."

"I don't need to." Lord James was patient. "The Guvnor is right up to it when it comes to managing the Temby Estates."

"Which shows how fortunate you are," Desborough mocked.

Lord James ignored his friend's black humor. "The Temby fortune don't compare with that of the Seftons." 

"Which won't amount to much if my cousin is allowed to continue with his brainless schemes." Desborough gripped the stem of his wine glass in anger.

"I agree you need to marry someone but not a milkmaid."

"My dear James," Desborough began as if imparting a lesson. "You don't seem to comprehend. Marriage to this milkmaid, or housemaid as I understand she is, can be annulled after I've gained control of my inheritance. Marriage to a daughter of the ton cannot."

"But damn it!" Lord James exclaimed. "What if she likes being a marchioness? A pretty fix you'd be in then."

Desborough's mouth curved cruelly. "Let's say I'd persuade her for the good of her health to decide otherwise."

"My God! I believe you'd do away with her. When is she to be expected?"

"She’s due at seven." Desborough glanced at his watch again. It was well past eight.

"Perhaps she's changed her mind." Lord James was hopeful. He could see nothing but disaster in the affair.

Desborough's dark eyes glittered. "Refuse a hundred guineas for a marriage, which will only last a few weeks! The girl can keep her maidenhead for one of the village yokels."

"If she still possesses it." Lord James’ laugh was coarse.

Desborough emptied the contents of the wine bottle into his and Lord James glasses before opening the door and shouting to the innkeeper to bring another bottle of wine.

His grandfather, the Seventh Marquis of Desborough, had died twelve months before. Enraged and concerned by his heir's wildness and high living, the old marquis had left the supervision of the vast Sefton estates under the control of a distant cousin.

Nicholas Anthony William Sefton, Eighth Marquis of Desborough, had gritted his teeth and borne his cousin's censures on his recklessness, his drinking and gambling and the opera dancers that he had acquired, but when he discovered his cousin was involved with a questionable land broker who had persuaded him to invest a large amount of Sefton money in a plantation in Jamaica, which was practically worthless, he decided it was time to relieve his cousin of a position he was clearly not suited for.

The solicitor whom Desborough consulted had sympathized but said there was nothing to be done. "Until you marry or are of age, my lord, it's lawful for your cousin to make investments on your behalf."

For days, Desborough wasn't to be seen at his usual haunts. He sat in his lodgings, broodingly considering all the eligible young women on the marriage mart. He was too astute not to realize his worth. There was no doubt the young Marquis of Desborough was, because of his wealth and consequence, one of the most eligible bachelors in England. Not only was he wealthy but also his tall dark handsomeness was enough to make even the most sober of young ladies swoon with longing, but he ignored them all. He preferred to keep his affections for the demimondes and married women of his class who knew how the game was played. He knew he would have to marry because of the succession but that day was far off. Now there was the problem of wresting control of his fortune from his cousin. There was a glimmer of an idea and he outlined his plan to Symonds, his secretary. Symonds agreed, that for a certain sum, there might be a country wench who would agree to be wife in name until an annulment could be arranged.

That was how Desborough found himself setting up at The Three Feathers, an inn of ill repute, with his close friend, Lord James Temby, who was to be a witness to the secret marriage.

Symonds footsteps sounded on the landing outside. He tapped sedately on the door before opening it and entering the parlor alone.

"Well, where is she?" Desborough demanded. 

The secretary closed the door and came into the ill lit room. "The girl has broke her leg, my lord."

Desborough stared at him a moment before sneering to Lord James as he reached for the wine bottle. "It seems your wish has been granted, James. I won't be getting married tonight." 

Lord James tried to hide his relief.

"There's another girl." Symonds was hesitant.

Desborough's hand was poised on the bottle.

The secretary forgot his usual discreteness. "She's a right raw one, my lord, but she said she'd take the other girl's place."

"Substitute bride!" Desborough looked grim. "And perhaps a little blackmail on the side, eh Symonds?"

"Possibly, my lord. I don't trust the look of her."

"You should know. You're as devious a man as any."

"My lord!" Symonds tried to look affronted.

Desborough's laugh was sharp. "What do you advise?"

The secretary's voice was wooden. "I think, my lord, we should look for another girl."

Desborough glanced towards Lord James, who was snoring softly. "You might call for his lordship's man, Symonds, as it appears Lord James won't be needed tonight." 

After the protesting Lord James had been led away to his bed, Desborough told Symonds to retire. He sat moodily drinking the last of the wine in the bottle as he watched the few candles disappear into their brackets.

The noise of a coach stopping outside the inn and the sound of voices in the hall brought him to himself. He stood, swaying as he steadied himself before opening the door and stepping onto the landing to gaze down the narrow staircase into the tiny cubicle of a hall. A young woman stood by the desk, arguing with a man whom he recognized as the innkeeper. Another young woman sat on a chair, her head drooping. The innkeeper and the girl, hearing the door open, stopped arguing to gaze up at him.

"What's the matter?" Desborough's voice was slurred as he stepped carefully down the stairs, his hand grasping the rail for support. 

The innkeeper glared at Emma before turning obsequiously to Desborough. "It's nothing for you to concern yourself, my lord," he began.

Desperate for assistance, Emma interrupted. "My friend isn't well." She tried to stop her voice from trembling. "She can't travel any further. I'm trying to persuade this gentleman." She glanced contemptuously at the innkeeper. "To hire us a room for the night."

"Where did you come from?" Desborough demanded. 

"We were traveling on the London coach when my friend took ill and we were forced to stop off here."

"I told the young woman that we haven't a room available, my lord," the innkeeper began, his voice servile.

The man fell silent at Desborough's cold gaze. 

Desborough looked at Emma a moment before saying. "They can have my room."

"But, my lord," the man protested feebly.

Desborough's tone was cold. "You heard me."

"Yes, my lord."

"Have one of your wenches show the other girl to the room and inform Symonds I want him."

Emma began to thank him, but he turned her thanks aside. "I wish to speak with you." He took her arm. "Not here. Come this way."

She was hesitant. The reckless look on his face disturbed her. "I must see to my friend first." She turned to the innkeeper, but he had vanished, leaving an aged serving woman to help Abby to her feet.

Desborough took Emma's arm and, ignoring her protests, forced her towards the staircase. "Your friend will be well looked after," he said as he propelled her up the stairs. He opened the door to the private parlor and thrust her bodily into the room.

She faced him angrily. "How dare you force me up here!"

He ignored her rage. "I think you might do."

"For what?" 

"Marriage. We have all the requirements for a marriage except a bride."

She was bewildered. Her gaze fell to the table and the empty wine bottles. "Is this some sort of joke?"

His laugh was harsh. "I assure you it's no joke."

She glared at him. "You're drunk. Drunk and mad." She started towards the door.

He grasped her arm and forced her to face him. "I may have drank too much wine but believe me when I say I'm still in control of my senses."

"Please let go of my arm."

"My apologies." He moved back several paces and leant against the door, surveying her intently.

She was alarmed. "If you don't allow me to leave, I'll call for the innkeeper."

"By all means call, shout if you want, but I can tell you the innkeeper will be conveniently deaf." 

"What do you mean?"

"I mean our innkeeper values gold above chivalry."

There was a knock at the door. "Come in," Desborough called. 

Symonds entered and seeing Emma, gave her a surprised glance.

Desborough's voice was grim. "As you see, Symonds, I've discovered another girl, so wake our slumbering priest and inform him his services are now required."

For a moment it seemed the secretary might protest, but he nodded and swiftly and dutifully left the room. 

"Who might you be contemplating marrying me to?" Emma asked, after Symonds had closed the door behind him.

"Me."

She was astounded. "You're mad. But now you've had your joke, will you please allow me to leave?"

"It's no joke. I'm in earnest."

"Whether you are or not, you appear not to understand, I'm not going to marry you or anyone else."

"You are a spirited young woman." There was faint admiration in his voice. "I was going to pay my other bride to be a hundred guineas but seeing you're lovely as well, I'll double it."

"How magnanimous of you." She tried to contain her fear as she realized the precariousness of her position. "But even that won't persuade me to marry you." 

He smiled appreciatively.

She wondered how to make this drunken fool understand the nonsense of his proposal. "My friend is ill. If you have any gentlemanly instincts in you, you'll allow me to leave this room immediately so I can care for her."

"I'm sorry about your friend and her affliction. Please accept my assurances that she will be well attended to. As for my gentlemanly instincts, I have none whatever so you'd be wise to fall in with my wishes. The marriage will be annulled in a few weeks and neither of us will be the worse for it."

Emma was speechless. This madman obviously thought she was some servant girl. She wanted to inform him she was Miss Emma Napier of Lansdown but would he believe her? Young women of quality didn't travel alone on public coaches and stop off at unsavory inns.

"Let me advise you, any young lady of the beau monde would leap at what I'm proposing," he continued, half bowing.

She glared at him. "If you're so sought after, why don't you marry one of them?" 

For a moment his hard expression vanished. "That would have to be a permanent affair and I'm not ready to be leg shackled yet."

"And I'm not ready to be wed. I'll refuse as soon as this priest of yours arrives and that will be the end of that." 

"Will it? Consider your friend. One word from me and the innkeeper will turn her out of the room I so gallantly bestowed upon you."

"You wouldn't dare," she gasped. "You couldn't be so inhuman." 

His voice was cold. "I could and will, or maybe you'd prefer I took you to wife before marriage? Perhaps that may change your mind."

Trembling violently, she sat on a chair.

"Come. You're making too much of this affair. I'm in desperate need of a wife. You'll be doing me a service by agreeing to what I propose, and you'll be well recompensed. No one will know of it except you and me."

"And Symonds and the priest."

"They will forget it."

"So you say." 

He looked surprised. "Do you doubt me? They'll be well paid to forget." 

"How generous of you."

He ignored her sarcasm. "It's nothing. I can afford it."

"Will they be paid more than two hundred guineas?" The question was out before she could stop herself. Two hundred guineas would get her out of her immediate money difficulties. She had fifty guineas in her bag and though she intended to persuade her brother's man of business in London to advance her more, there was no certainty he would without her brother's authorization.

He was cynical. "Is that your concern? Are you afraid they'll be getting more than you, who are." He bowed. "The star of the show." He smiled at her furious expression. "I'm not ungenerous. Are you hanging out for more? Shall I throw in another hundred or two? Is that what you want?"

"You move too fast for me, but I can tell you this. Be it four hundred or four thousand guineas, I shan't marry you."

"I think you will." He pulled her roughly to her feet. His dark face swam above her as his lips came down firmly on hers.

She struggled and hit his chest with her fists. He let her go. They stared at each other. She raised her hand and struck him across the face with as much force as she could muster. 

He laughed mirthlessly as he touched his bruised cheek. 

She shrunk away as she gazed fearfully at him. 

"You might well look afraid, my girl. That was the act of no lady."

She felt some of her fear vanishing. "And you, sir, are no gentleman." 

"Correct. So now you know my character, you'll be wise to fall in with my wishes and not anger me." 

There was a knock at the door. 

"Wait." He pulled her to him, his eyes glittering as he whispered harshly. "I mean what I said." His fingers dug into her arm and, ignoring her cry of pain, he continued. "Refuse to do what I want and you'll not leave this room a virgin, if virgin you are."

He let her go and she nearly fell to the floor. Her breast heaved and she felt faint with fear. He was mad. She was certain he would have her and Abby murdered in their beds if she refused his demands.

At his command, the door opened and Symonds entered, followed by the innkeeper and a small, thin man who looked everywhere except at the people in the room.

"Are you ready?" Desborough's fingers tightened warningly on Emma's arm as he thrust her towards the priest.

The ceremony was simple and brief. Emma could scarcely believe it was happening. When it was time for her to make her vows, Desborough's fingers tightened warningly on her arm. In a voice barely above a whisper, she murmured. "I do." 

Desborough slipped a gold signet ring on her finger. 

Symonds produced a pen and ink, dipped the pen into the ink bottle and handed it to Emma, motioning to her to sign the marriage contract.

She nearly wrote her own name, paused, and wrote Jane Brown in large unformed letters as she imagined someone with not much education would write.

Desborough added his signature, and handed the pen to Symonds to write his name as witness. 

When they were alone, he said to Emma. "Now, my girl, would you please give me your correct name and address."

She was alarmed. "What do you mean?"

His laugh was sharp. "Come now, you surely don't expect me to believe your name is really Jane Brown? You should have chosen another. Jane Brown is too common for a wench as lovely as you."

She relaxed. For a moment she thought he had detected her proper station. He wouldn't be pleased if he discovered he had married a lady of quality. "Curiously enough my name is Jane Brown," she lied. There had been an old servant by that name at Lansdown when she was a child. "But I could choose another if you think it too common."

His eyes narrowed. "You have a remarkably sharp tongue but you miss my meaning. I wish to have your correct name and address so I can advise you of the annulment."

"Send it to Miss Jane Brown, care of Lansdown in Little Gosford." She enlarged on her untruth. "I wouldn't want my employers to learn of this escapade. I have a good position and wouldn't want to lose it through no fault of my own." She wondered if she had said too much or if her accent had been too contrived, but he didn't seem to be listening. All his concentration was put to writing her name and address on a slip of paper.

She wanted to needle him and strange as it was, she trusted him when he said he wouldn't make advances to her. "Aren't you concerned I might enjoy being the wife of a nobleman?"

"I don't think you would." He folded the slip of paper with her name and address and put it in an inside pocket of the coat he wore. "You'd find it devilish uncomfortable. In fact you could be risking your life."

"Would you consider murder?" Her fascination was tinged with horror.

He laughed shortly. "You wouldn't know what I would do, my girl."

"I can well imagine."

"I see we begin to understand each other."

There was a glint to her eye. "If you mean about your threat, I do. So I suppose I must accept this marriage as fact and hope it can be speedily dissolved." She moved towards the door. "Now if you'll excuse me."

"Stay and share a glass of wine with me." His sudden smile was so unexpectedly charming, she was startled out of her fear of him. 

"Oh, if you insist," she muttered as she realized he could prevent her departure if he wanted to. 

He poured two glasses of wine, handed one to her and took the other for himself. 

She sipped the wine, feeling its heady warmth flowing through her body. "What time is it?" she asked as she tried to keep her eyes from closing. 

He pulled out his watch. "Nearly eleven."

"That late!" She placed the empty glass unsteadily on the table and wondered how she would rise to her feet, let alone find the bedroom.

His face hovered close to her. "Stay a minute, my dear. I fear you shouldn't have had the wine."

She was frightened. "Why did you give it to me?"

"I didn't think you'd have such a weak head for it."

She shrank against the sofa.

"Don't think I'm going to seduce you. I never seduce women when I'm in my cups." He eyed her a little whimsically. "Or when they're tipsy."

"How dare you," she began, but her resilience had ebbed. She felt too weary to argue. Closing her eyes, she wanted only to sleep. 

He watched, a smile on his well-shaped mouth. He leant forward and took her hand, kissing it lightly.

She snatched it back. 

He laughed harshly. "You misunderstand me. I shan't go back on my word." He rose to his feet, standing tall above her. "I'll leave you now. Symonds should have the carriage ready." He smiled at her surprise. "Are you sorry I'm going?"

She glared at him. 

He continued. "In other circumstances there might have been something between us. Maybe I'll return to find you."

"You'd be wasting your time."

"Would I?" His gaze was considering. "With time you might come around to my way of thinking." He laughed, mocking her anger. "I must leave you before I’m tempted to use the prerogatives of a husband." He walked to the door and opened it, saluting her before stepping into the passage.

Furiously she turned away. She heard the door close. When she looked again, he was gone.

Several minutes later, there was a knock at the door. It opened and Symonds stood there. "If madam will come, I'll show her to the room where the other young lady is."

Emma had forgotten Abby. Rising unsteadily to her feet, she followed the secretary out of the room and along the short landing. He stopped beside a closed door. Before he opened it, he handed her a heavy purse. "With his lordship’s compliments." His quiet voice sounded loud in the stillness of the dark passage, which was lit only by the light of the candle he carried.

For a moment, she was tempted to refuse the money, but why shouldn't she accept it? She had earned it and his lordship seemed to have plenty. Who knew what difficulties she would encounter in London. She might not be able to contact her brother's man of business. Her mind boggled at the thought of being alone in London without money. Her reasons justified, she took the heavy purse.

"Is there anything else madam requires?" Symonds asked in a low voice.

Her tone was wry as she answered. "No, thank you." She had taken notice of the 'madam'. Before it would have been 'miss'.

Symonds bowed and opened the bedroom door for her to enter.

She went in and closed it behind her. By the light of the candle Symonds had given her, she saw Abby asleep in one of the two beds. How peaceful she looked. She giggled nervously and bit her lip to stifle the sound. Abby would be devastated when she heard about the marriage. 

Perhaps she shouldn't tell her! What reason was there for her to know? His lordship had assured her the marriage would be annulled before the month was out. Her decision made, she extinguished the candle and crept into the other bed. 

The marquis’ dark face hovered between her and sleep. She wondered whether the likeness from which she had copied her dark gypsy was of his lordship himself. The painted likeness had held a fascination for her. Once she had woken in the night from a dream in which her painted gypsy lived, but the dream was nothing like the reality. It had become a nightmare. She shivered, thinking of the sly faced innkeeper, the silent Symonds, the timid miserable little rabbit of a priest and his lordship himself with the red mark of her hand across his lean cheek.

His lordship's heavy signet ring bit into her finger. She had forgotten to return it to him.

It seemed she had scarcely closed her eyes when a loud knocking awoke her. She sat up with a start.

Abby, who was already up and dressed, glanced fearfully at Emma before going to the door. "Who is it?"

A voice called loudly. "The London coach be here in half an hour." 

Abby opened the door. The innkeeper stood there, looking sourly at her.

"The London coach be here in half an hour," he repeated. "You'll be able to have breakfast in Quedgely. Your bill's been paid too," he added as in an afterthought.

"What a strange man," said Abby as she closed the door. "Fancy not providing breakfast and what did he mean about the bill being paid?" 

"I suppose his lordship paid it." There was an edge to Emma's voice.

"His lordship!"

"Yes. We have his room. He gave it up to us."

Abby looked disturbed.

"Don't worry. He had plenty of money."

"I must thank him," she began.

"You can't. He left last night." Emma continued quickly to take Abby's thoughts away from his lordship. "You look like you've recovered from the migraine." 

"I do feel better. I'm sorry to have been so much trouble. It's dreadful about that poor man having to give up his room to us."

"I wouldn't worry about him. He'll probably spend the rest of the week thinking what a good Samaritan he was. I'm glad you're well enough to travel. I don't think we'd be welcome to stay here." Emma slid out of bed and tipped some water from the ewer into a chipped basin. "Ugh," she gasped as she splashed the water over her face. "It's cold."

"It was cold when the maid brought it." Abby began packing her few things into her bag, saying in a voice little more than a whisper. "I wonder how things are at home."

"In turmoil, I suppose, but there's nothing we can do. As soon as we reach London, we'll write and let them know where we are. Are you ready? We don't want to miss the coach, though I doubt if the innkeeper would let us. He's determined to see us on our way." While Abby was putting on her bonnet and pelisse, Emma stuffed the leather purse she had hidden beneath her pillow, into her bag.

The London coach was five minutes before time. It carried only two passengers. Emma and Abby sat in silence, watching but not seeing the countryside roll along beside them.



 

 


Chapter Three 

 

It was eight o'clock in the morning when the coach set Emma and Abby down at the central coach office in London.

When Emma left Little Gosford, her intention was to take up residence at her brother's lodgings, but now she had time to think about it, she doubted whether there would be servants to open the apartments and if there were, would they believe she was Richard Napier's sister? She hadn't met her brother's London servants and imagined the stir she and Abby would cause, arriving at her brother's lodgings in a hired cab without baggage or servants. "Perhaps we should visit my Aunt Matilda and see if she can suggest a suitable guest house," she said to Abby.

Abby was appalled. "What will Lady Matilda think of us turning up unannounced like this?" 

"She'll be horrified but what can we do? There's no one else we can turn to in London."

"I suppose we must go to your aunt's." Abby's voice was strained. "I brought my mother's jewelry. I believe it's valuable. Uncle Arthur is always telling me so and warning me to be careful with it. If we sell it, we should have enough money." Her voice trailed off. She was frightened to plan too far into the future. Panic-stricken thoughts of governesses and milliners flitted through her head as she wondered how she would earn a living. 

"I have enough money." Emma thought guiltily of his lordship's sovereigns. No, she wouldn't think of them. "So it won't be necessary to dispose of your inheritance. Your uncle would be tremendously angry and never forgive you if you did."

Abby brushed a tear from her cheek and thought she should have thrown herself in the river, which wound through Little Gosford. She had caused so much trouble by running away. 

They picked their way through the crowded yard at the coach office and found a waiting cab. Emma gave directions of her aunt's place of residence to the cab driver.

It was nine o'clock when the cab deposited them outside the front of Langridge house in Graham Square.

The Square, in contrast to the crowded coach yard, was almost deserted.

"Do you want me to wait?" the cab driver inquired as Emma paid him the sixpence he asked.

"No, thank you." She knew he expected two disheveled young women such as she and Abby presented would get short shrift from the servants of Langridge House. 

After the cab had driven away, Emma gazed in trepidation at the tall, narrow building, which possessed all the hallmarks of well-kept elegance. She took a deep breath and mounted the stone steps, which had already been scrubbed that morning and knocked resolutely on the door.

A sedate looking butler opened the door. "Yes," he inquired, his expression quelling.

Emma straightened her shoulders. "I'm Miss Emma Napier, Lady Matilda's niece. Would you inform her ladyship of my arrival, please?"

If the butler was surprised, he quickly hid it. "Ah, if you'll step inside, miss." He opened the door wider. 

Emma and Abby moved past him into the hall.

"If you will wait here," he said as he closed the door. "I'll inform Lady Matilda of your presence."

Emma watched him mount the curved staircase. "I think he wonders if Aunt Matilda will welcome us into her house," she whispered. "It's why we've been left to wait in the hall."

Abby's face whitened.

Feeling nervous herself, Emma said as much for her own comfort as Abby's. "Don't worry. Aunt Matilda will do her best to assist us." 

"She's sure to be very cross." Abby's memory of Lady Matilda was of a rather formidable lady who carried with her all the consequence of a duke's daughter.

The butler returned down the highly polished staircase. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he said. "If you will come with me, miss, I'll escort you and the other young lady to her ladyship's apartment."

Feeling like schoolgirls again, Emma and Abby followed the butler up the stairs and along a wide passage and waited while he knocked on a door, which was opened by Lady Matilda's maid, Rose.

They entered, and still clutching their bags, followed Rose as she led them through a sunny sitting room and into a bedroom where Lady Matilda, wearing a pair of gold rimmed spectacles, a white cap edged with lace covering her gray hair and with a breakfast tray across her lap, sat in her big four poster bed, reading the morning newspaper. She glanced up at Emma and Abby's entrance. "Emma!" she cried. "This is a surprise, my dear." She asked Rose to remove the tray and held out her arms, embracing her niece and kissing her fondly on the cheek. She glanced at Abby. "I think I know your friend. It's Miss Derries, isn't it?"

Abby nodded.

Lady Matilda spoke to Emma. "When did you arrive in London?"

"By the London coach this morning."

Lady Matilda was astounded. "That would be an experience."

"It was." For all her bravado, Emma's voice wavered a little.

"Why didn't you use the Lansdown carriage? The London coach surely isn't a suitable mode of travel for young ladies." 

Emma and Abby reddened at the censure in Lady Matilda's voice. "We were forced to leave in a hurry," Emma mumbled.

"I trust nothing is wrong? I've always said Richard shouldn't have left you alone at Lansdown. How many times have I suggested that you make your home with me in London?"

"I know, aunt, and I would have been happy to accept your invitation if it wasn't for Lansdown."

"Fiddle! Why should you be imprisoned at Lansdown looking after Richard's interests while he dallies on the continent?"

Emma smiled at Lady Matilda's description of her brother's diplomatic activities. "Richard and I do have joint ownership of Lansdown."

Lady Matilda sniffed. "Your papa was far too modern in his thinking as Richard is but never mind that now. You were telling me what brought you to London."

Emma couldn't think how to begin. It was difficult discussing Abby's problems with Abby standing beside her, looking ready to burst into tears at any moment.

Lady Matilda took pity on her. "Perhaps you might tell me when you feel more the thing. You both look extremely weary."

"The journey was excessively tedious," Emma admitted.

"I expect it was. Have you breakfasted?"

Emma shook her head. "We didn't come to impose on you, aunt, but rather to ask your advice."

"I'll give you that to the best of my ability but first you must eat and rest and perhaps take a bath and a change of clothes." The last Lady Matilda mentioned somewhat delicately.

Emma glanced down at herself. "I apologize for presenting myself to you in such a state, dear aunt, but there were scarcely any facilities for bathing on the journey."

Lady Matilda shuddered.

Emma took a deep breath. "The fact is, aunt, Abby and I don't have a change of clothes." 

With a gesture of decision, Lady Matilda pulled on the bell cord near her bed. "Clothes will be a small matter. What you need is sleep." When her personal maid came into the room, she said. "Rose, will you prepare a bedroom each for my niece and her friend, Miss Derries. I don't know what has happened to their luggage but I'm sure you'll arrange something." She turned to Emma and Abby. "Now, my dear, go with Rose and she'll look after you as if she were your own mother." 

"You're so good, Aunt Matilda." Emma's voice was choked.

"Hush, girl. After you've rested, we can discuss how I can assist you. Now off with you both so I can finish reading my newspaper in peace."

What luxury to divest oneself of one's clothing and to stand beside a hipbath, sponging one's body with warm water. 

Rose arrived with a voluptuous nightgown, which Emma suspected belonged to Lady Matilda. Rose held it, ready for Emma to put on. "Now, you get into bed, miss." She drew back the bed covers and placed the tea tray another maid had brought into the room, on Emma's lap.

What heavenly comfort. Emma could scarcely stay awake to eat a boiled egg, munch a slice of toast and swallow a cup of tea.

Rose took the tray as Emma slid under the covers, her head resting on the light as thistle down pillow and within minutes was asleep.

It was mid afternoon when Rose woke her by drawing aside the curtains to let the sunlight into the room. "How do you feel, miss?" she asked, glancing at Emma.

"Marvelous." Emma smiled at her. "What time is it, please?"

"Two o'clock."

Emma sat up abruptly. "You should have woken me earlier."

"Lady Matilda said you were to rest as long as possible, miss. The other young lady is awake too." Rose brought a dress to the bed. 

Emma recognized it as the one she had worn. 

"One of the maids washed and ironed it, miss," Rose explained as she placed the dress carefully on the end of the bed.

"Thank you." Emma looked gratefully at her.

"Lady Matilda said when you and the other young lady are ready; she'll be in the morning room, miss."

After she had finished dressing, Emma reluctantly left the safe comfort of the bedroom. Aunt Matilda still needed an explanation and she resolved, with Abby's permission, to tell her aunt as much of the truth about Abby's problems as necessary but nothing about that disastrous marriage. She cringed at the memory of it. She wouldn't think about it. 

Abby, who was already seated in the morning room with Lady Matilda, looked relieved at Emma's arrival.

Lady Matilda kissed her on the cheek. "You do look better, my dear. I told Abby there's nothing like a good nap to put one in the pink again."

"I do feel more the thing," Emma agreed as she sat on a rose flowered chintz covered armchair. 

"I've ordered tea." As Lady Matilda finished speaking, a maid arrived with a tray of tea things. Lady Matilda poured tea from a silver teapot into fine china teacups. "Now we're comfortable, my dear, you must tell me your problems so I'll know how to help you."

"First of all, aunt, we must thank you for allowing us to stay this morning."

"I'm glad to be of assistance. Now, tell me, how can I help you?"

Abby looked away in distress.

Emma took a deep breath. "We wish to find some genteel place to stay in London."

Lady Matilda was horrified. "My dear young ladies, you can't stay by yourselves."

"Can't we?" Emma was taken aback with surprise.

"No young ladies can set up in lodgings by themselves. It's not the thing."

"We wouldn't want to go into society, Aunt Matilda."

"Society or not, I couldn't allow a niece of mine to set up such an establishment. At least think of my reputation if you don't think of your own. You must both stay with me."

"I couldn't possibly accept your invitation, Lady Matilda," Abby looking agitated, broke in.

"Why not, my dear?"

"I couldn’t force myself on you like this. No, I couldn't." Abby's voice drifted into an incoherent whisper.

"If that's the only reason, we can dispense with it. In fact, you'll give me pleasure by being my guests. You are both attractive young women and will bring more than a spark of life to what has become a mundane existence."

"Before you issue your invitation, Lady Matilda, I must tell you I've run away from home." Abby wanted to look at Lady Matilda but she found it difficult to raise her gaze from the floor rug on which deep pink roses entwined with one another.

A look of horror swept over Lady Matilda's face. "Perhaps later you may tell me why a gently bred young woman like yourself was forced into that position but as to staying here, I thought in the circumstances it would be more than necessary you accept my invitation. I couldn't have it on my conscience if you were to leave here with no place to go."

Abby burst into tears and covered her face with her hands. She sniffed as she tried to find a handkerchief in the pocket of her gown.

"Here, my dear." Lady Matilda passed her a fine cambric handkerchief with little pink flowers embroidered in the corner. "Now you'll talk no more about leaving. Emma will tell me what has happened to your luggage."

She clucked in disapproval as Emma explained what had led to their abrupt departure from Little Gosford.

"I can scarce believe it, and as to what you say about Adrian Weaverham wanting to marry Abby!" Lady Matilda paused. "Time will sort that out no doubt."

"Do you know Mr. Weaverham, aunt?" 

"Yes, but now you must write to Mrs. Purse and advise her that you have arrived safely and Abby must do the same to her aunt and uncle. I'll write to them, saying I've invited you both to stay with me."

"You're so good, Aunt Matilda. Much more than we deserve."

"Maybe. You were both very naughty to travel on the London coach by yourselves, and without baggage too. Heaven knows what evil might have befallen you."

Emma reddened, and immediately dismissed his lordship from her thoughts.

Lady Matilda continued. "And neither of you must mention traveling on the London coach. I shudder to think what society would say but no more of that. You must have clothes so I took the liberty of sending for my dressmaker. As soon as we've finished our tea, we'll repair to where she waits."

"But, Aunt Matilda, Abby and I don't wish to go about in society." Emma had fearful thoughts of encountering Desborough if she were to set foot in a theater or ballroom. 

Abby, who was petrified at meeting Adrian Weaverham, agreed.

"Nonsense. Of course, it would be improper to present either of you officially, but seeing you're both older than the usual run of debutantes, there's no reason to suppose you may not attend balls and such." She rose to her feet. "But first you must have clothes."

Resignedly Emma and Abby followed Lady Matilda to an ante room where Mrs. King, a spry, dark eyed little woman who reminded Emma of a sparrow, waited with two of her sewing girls.

It was eight o'clock when Lady Matilda and Emma and Abby sat down to dine. "It was fortunate Miss King had several dresses nearly finished, which will fit you," Lady Matilda said. "So now we can begin to plan our engagements."

"Do you think we should meet people so soon, aunt?"

Lady Matilda looked at Emma in surprise. "What reason is there not to?" 

Emma and Abby glanced at each other. Neither was willing to mention the reasons for their reluctance.

Rising from dinner, Lady Matilda said she would retire to bed and read to settle her nerves after the exhausting afternoon. "I hope you girls can amuse yourselves without my company."

"We're ready to retire as well," said Emma as she and Abby followed Lady Matilda up the stairs. "We're exhausted after that terrible coach journey." 

After Emma undressed, she slipped a borrowed dressing gown over the voluptuous nightgown and stepped across the passage to Abby's bedroom. "Can I come in, Abby?" she whispered.

When Abby answered, Emma opened the door and went in. Abby was already in bed. Emma thought how wan she looked. "Are you too tired to talk?" she asked as she sat at the end of the bed.

Abby shook her head. "I'm worried about going into society," she said, fidgeting nervously with the top of the sheet. "What will people say if they knew the circumstances of my arrival here?"

"They won't know," Emma comforted. "Who is there to tell them? Would Mr. Weaverham mention it?"

"Oh, no, he wouldn't tell anyone, but what if I should meet him? What would I say to him?"

"Very little but it would be foolish to cut him."

"I wouldn't do that, but it would be so embarrassing to meet him. He must think I'm so foolish."

"You may not meet him. The company Mr. Weaverham keeps would be very different to my aunt's."

"Lady Matilda said she knew him."

"Which wouldn't be unusual. Aunt Matilda must know most people in society, if not personally, then certainly by name."

"I suppose so." Abby tried to smile but only succeeded in looking more miserable. "It isn't easy not to worry."

"I know. It will work itself out, you'll see."

Emma's bracing words were of little comfort to herself. After she returned to her bedroom and settled in bed, the thought of her marriage gnawed at her like a dull ache. Now she had time to consider it, she realized the seriousness of her position. If the marriage became known, it would ruin her, not only in London but also in Little Gosford. If only she hadn't given his lordship her address. That could be her undoing. But how could a few words said by a dissolute priest constitute a marriage? Whatever the law might say, she didn't consider herself married. Fiddle to the law. Let them prove it had been Miss Emma Napier of Lansdown who had married the Marquis of Desborough at that disreputable inn. The light had been dull in the private parlor and his lordship drunk. In a future meeting, he might not connect her with the servant girl who he had married out of hand. That is, if she ever saw him again, were her last thoughts as she drifted into sleep.

As the days became weeks, Emma thought less and less about her clandestine marriage. The few times she did, it was to wonder if there was a letter from Symonds addressed to Jane Brown waiting at Lansdown to inform her the temporary marriage was at an end. She decided to write to Mrs. Purse and tell her to be certain of forwarding on all the mail but this thought was soon forgotten in the excitement of attending Lady Lindsay's ball.

"It's one of the premier events of the season," said Lady Matilda who had procured invitations for Emma and Abby as a special favor from her friend, Elaine Lindsay.

Emma knew she looked her best in a blue gown with a high waistline, tiny puff sleeves and a lace edged neckline and with her hair threaded with a silver ribbon, falling in ringlets about her shoulders. Abby looked equally attractive in a gown of shell pink and Lady Matilda was magnificent in deep green silk with a spray of purple orchids at her shoulder.

"We do look splendid," Lady Matilda declared as they waited in the drawing room for the carriage to convey them to Lindsay House. 

On their arrival, a throng of admirers surrounded Emma and Abby. Emma was laughingly allowing Sir Walter Fryer-Smith, whom she had met at Almacks and liked immediately, to write his name against the two remaining dances on her card when she saw the marquis. He stood a short distance away, staring at her. She gasped and grew pale. With an effort, she tried to continue the conversation with Sir Walter, mechanically answering his questions as she wondered what to do. She couldn't stay. That was certain. She wondered what excuse she could give so she could leave without spoiling Abby and Lady Matilda's evening. She had been full of excitement for the ball, which she had looked forward to for weeks and was furious this of all nights his lordship had appeared to spoil her fun. What bad luck for him to turn up like this when her fear at meeting him had vanished?

The orchestra struck up a waltz. Sir Walter reluctantly excused himself and left to join his partner. Emma was about to rise to her feet and go to where Lady Matilda sat with several other dowagers who were enjoying a gossip together, when the master of ceremonies appeared before her.

"Miss Emma Napier," he said in a portentous voice. "May I have permission to present his lordship, the Marquis of Desborough."

Emma trembled with fright. Her face burnt and her heart thumped madly. Through her confusion, she heard his lordship say. "How do you do, Miss Napier."

She couldn't look at him and mumbled some reply, scarcely aware of the master of ceremonies bow as he departed.

"May I have the pleasure of the waltz, Miss Napier?" his lordship asked.

Emma swallowed hard and managed to gasp. "I'm sorry, it's already been asked for." She didn't have the dance engaged. She was a novice at the waltz and had refused all her willing partners. She expected him to leave but after a moment's hesitation, he sat on the vacant chair beside her.

"I have a feeling we've met before, Miss Napier."

She was forced to look at him. He gazed at her in expectancy. "No, we haven't." Her voice was firm, though she felt hot and faint. There was a roaring in her ears and she had difficulty breathing. She had to find an excuse to leave, but she doubted her ability to walk away from him.

There was a hard look in his dark eyes. "Are you sure?"

"Of, course." He can't prove it was you, she thought feverishly. He saw you in candlelight and he was drunk. She glanced at him, seeing him properly for the first time. Dressed in white knee breeches, black coat, white waistcoat and elaborately tied neck cloth, his lordship was one of the most attractive men in the ballroom. "I'm sure I'd remember if I'd met you before, my lord." She tried to sound the coquette like some of the debutantes she had met.

He looked surprised. For a moment it seemed, he didn't know how to answer her. He rose to his feet.

She was relieved he was leaving, but instead he took her arm and drew her to her feet. "It appears your partner isn't going to honor his commitment so will you give me the pleasure of dancing the waltz with you?" 

She protested and tried to pull away, but he placed an arm firmly about her waist and swept her among the dancers.

The waltz wasn't danced in Little Gosford. She had to keep her mind on her feet, counting the beats to the music as a former dancing master had instructed her. 

"Have you been in London long, Miss Napier?" his lordship asked.

"Only a few weeks." She missed a step and stumbled. His arm held her firmly. "I'm sorry," she said, breathless. "I can't make conversation. I must keep my mind on the dance. I'm not familiar with the waltz."

He looked surprised, and laughed, saying he would do his best to guide her. "It's easy once you become used to the rhythm. Relax. It will come naturally."

They circled the ballroom several times. In her concentration, Emma forgot her apprehension of him.

"You're doing well," he said.

Her green eyes showed pleasure, and then she remembered who he was and her smile vanished.

The orchestra paused for an interlude. They stood silently together. Beyond them, was a set of wide doors opening into the garden. The Chinese lanterns, hanging from the trees, made it look a fairyland. Emma could see couples walking together and thought it would be pleasantly cool among the trees after the warmth of the ballroom but Lady Matilda had warned on no account were they to allow any gentleman to escort them into the garden without a chaperon.

Desborough followed her gaze. "Would you care to take a stroll in the garden, Miss Napier?"

She wished she dared act the flirt and accept his offer just to shock him but instead she said primly. "I've been warned by my aunt it’s not thought seemly for young ladies to wander in the gardens without a chaperon for fear their reputations would be bandied about the tea tables."

His look was searching. "I'm glad you have a respect for the social mores."

She couldn't stop herself from adding with some asperity. "I think it's a silly convention. It's nearly as well lit out there as it is in the ballroom and decidedly cooler."

He laughed, and taking her into his arms when the music began, asked. "Who is your aunt?"

"Lady Matilda Langridge," she answered, once more concentrating on the waltz steps.

"I didn't know Lady Matilda had a niece?" he said after a moment's pause.

"I'm her great niece." She stumbled against him. 

He held her close. 

Immediately she pulled away.

When the dance ended, he escorted her to her seat. She thanked him and expected him to leave but he sat beside her and took her dance card before she could prevent him. "Allow me to place my name against another waltz. You're improving but you need more tutoring." 

"You wouldn't want to dance with me again." She wished she dared snatch the card from him.

"Why not?" There was a mocking expression in his dark eyes. "You are one of the most beautiful women in the ballroom." He smiled as he handed the card back. "I found our waltz most entertaining." 

She glanced at the card and found to her chagrin he had written his name against all the remaining waltzes of the evening.

Abby had returned. Desborough stood to allow her the chair on which he sat. He bowed to her, forcing Emma to introduce them. 

Sir Walter Fryer-Smith claimed Emma for the next dance. After she had taken the floor with him, she was dismayed to see Desborough was still conversing with Abby. Surely he didn't recognize her from The Three Feathers, Emma worried. She missed a step and bumped against Sir Walter as they came together in the dance. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"What are you thinking about?" he whispered. "You look as if you're carrying the world's woes on your shoulders." 

"Do I?" She smiled brightly.

"That's better. For a moment I wondered whether you enjoyed dancing with me."

"I think you're seeking a compliment, Sir Walter."

They were on the other side of the ballroom. Between the dancers, Emma saw Abby's partner had claimed her. His lordship was nowhere to be seen. He was suspicious of her, she was sure. She hoped she had allayed that suspicion but what if Abby in all innocence should give him cause to question further. She was in a turmoil of indecision. Should she warn Abby but if she did, she would have to explain what had happened at that disreputable inn. Maybe she was worrying needlessly. What was there to connect her with the housemaid who Desborough had married at The Three Feathers?

When the orchestra struck up the next waltz, Desborough appeared and claimed Emma from among her admirers. He led her onto the floor and ignoring her glum expression, commented. "You and your friend appear to be the belles of the ball, Miss Napier."

She flushed, finding it difficult to accept compliments as her due.

He smiled and said no more except to remark her waltzing was improving.

She was suspicious of his praise. It was difficult to connect this beautiful smiling young man with the determined devil who had forced her to marry him.

Later she saw him speaking to Lady Matilda. Flattering her no doubt, she thought, as she glimpsed the pleased expression on that dowager's face.

Afterwards Lady Matilda managed to whisper when she caught Emma alone. "Three waltzes with Desborough. I declare it's never happened before, though I find it hard to believe he can be serious. I understand he has to marry to gain control of his inheritance."

"I doubt whether Lord Desborough has marriage in mind on the strength of three waltzes," Emma returned."He's teaching me to waltz. I told him I wasn't proficient in the waltz."

Lady Matilda was flabbergasted. "You didn't! Not Desborough! What must he think of you!"

Emma laughed and was prevented from answering by the arrival of Sir Walter who was to escort them to supper. Halfway through the repast, she found Desborough by her side. He appeared to be by himself and seemingly on good acquaintance with Sir Walter.

Emma had recovered from the shock at meeting him again. She began to feel confident he hadn't connected her with the Jane Brown who he had married at The Three Feathers, if it was a real marriage and she was having doubts about that. Who knew what deviousness persons of Desborough's class would rise to gain their own ends but if they had been legally married, the marriage would surely have been annulled by now. That efficient secretary of his would have seen to that. She sensed Symonds hadn't approved of the marriage and she was sure the secretary would do all he could to have it annulled as soon as possible. 

It was two o'clock when Desborough and Sir Walter escorted Lady Matilda's party to their carriage. Lady Matilda was delighted by Emma's success in capturing the attention of the biggest prize on the matrimonial market and had extracted a promise from Desborough to call on them at Langridge House.

"I'll be delighted to accept your invitation, Lady Matilda," he said as he handed her into the carriage.

Lady Matilda was ecstatic as they drove off. "What an achievement it will be if you can snare Desborough, Emma."

"I doubt if that will happen." Emma was concerned at her aunt's inveigling to have Desborough at her tea party and she devoutly hoped his lordship would find the prospect of her aunt's tame entertainment dry as dust and send along his apologies.

Lady Matilda doubted it too. She was dejected as she remembered his lordship was conducting a most public affair with Lady Letitia Stanaway, that profligate Fleetwater's daughter.

Emma had no reason to think Desborough might have serious intentions towards her. She knew his quality too well for that. His lordship would be a devil to be married to. She pitied the poor girl he would eventually make his marchioness but it would have amused her to pay him back by pretending she wanted to remain married to him.

 

 




Chapter Four

 

When no note of apology had arrived from Desborough by midday, Emma began to feel uneasy. She knew it would be unwise to meet him again. She had been lucky last night. In daylight, he might be more discerning. She would pretend to have a headache to avoid him. With this decision, she felt easier, though it was a pity to forgo Sir Walter's amusing company.

As they were finishing lunch, the butler arrived in the dining room with the information a Mr. Oliver Pollitt waited in the drawing room.

Emma thought how like Mr. Pollitt to arrive at the most inopportune time. Now she wouldn't be able to retire with the excuse of a headache to escape Desborough. Abby looked too upset to deal with Mr. Pollitt alone.

"I hadn't expected Mr. Pollitt's arrival in London," Abby worried as she and Emma went to the drawing room.

"He always turns up when he's not wanted," Emma said sourly.

Mr. Pollitt came forward to greet them. He kissed Emma's hand, saying, "I thought I'd come to see how you did." He turned to Abby and lifting her hand to his lips, said. "I told your aunt I'd ascertain how you were and write immediately."

Aware of Abby's discomfort, Emma said, "How kind of you to come to see us, Mr. Pollitt, especially as you dislike London so much but you shouldn't have put yourself to so much trouble. We've already written letters to Little Gosford to say we're doing very well and have attended no end of balls and receptions."

Mr. Pollitt was disappointed. After the initial shock and humiliation of Emma's abrupt departure had subsided, he had started out with great importance to offer his services but was disconcerted to discover how well set up she and Abby were as guests of Lady Matilda, but he wasn't discouraged. "Your aunt is recovering from her indisposition," he said.

"Has Aunt Ada been unwell?" Abby looked worried. "She didn't mention it in her letter."

"It's her nerves, I believe." Mr. Pollitt's look was meaningful.

Abby flushed.

"Mrs. Purse goes over to assist her."

Emma was annoyed by Mr. Pollitt's insinuations it was Abby's flight, which had caused her aunt's melancholy, true as it might be. She said to Abby. "Nanny will be a comfort to your aunt."

Mr. Pollitt was dissatisfied. Neither Emma nor Abby appeared penitent about what he considered was an indiscretion of the highest degree. He wanted to stress the impropriety of their actions. "There was a great stir when it was discovered you'd gone and on the London coach too. If I'd been asked, I would have been happy to escort you in my carriage."

"Thank you, but we managed quite well on the London coach." Emma's voice was tart.

Mr. Pollitt continued unabashed. "I don't approve of young ladies traveling by themselves, especially on the London coach." 

At this juncture, Lady Matilda entered the drawing room. 

Emma was forced to hide her irritation with Mr. Pollitt as she introduced him to her aunt.

Mr. Pollitt bent over Lady Matilda's hand. "I must thank you for taking Miss Napier and Miss Derries under your wing."

She looked surprised. "I'm always happy to welcome my relatives and their friends to my house. You must stay to my tea party, Mr. Pollitt. My guests will be arriving shortly."

"I shall be honored." Mr. Pollitt was gratified at Lady Matilda's invitation and bowed again.

Perceiving Mr. Pollitt was about to continue his discourse upon their flight from Little Gosford, Emma asked quickly. "When does Gerald expect to arrive in London, Mr. Pollitt?"

"The Hunts were to leave the day after I left but as you know, Mrs. Hunt is a poor traveler and that entourage must necessary proceed more slowly than I did."

"How frustrating for Gerald." With an imp of mischief, Emma suggested. "You should have taken him up with you, Mr. Pollitt."

"I did offer, but he chose to travel with the Hunts. Perhaps that journey will teach him a lesson in patience."

Thinking Mr. Pollitt a most boring man, Lady Matilda excused herself. "Emma and Abby will entertain you, Mr. Pollitt. I have things to do before my guests arrive."

Mr. Pollitt bowed as she made her escape.

Lady Matilda had scarcely been gone five minutes when the butler announced Desborough’s arrival.

Emma hid her trepidation as his lordship came towards her. "I didn't expect to see you, my lord," she said as she greeted him.

"Why not?" he asked in amusement. "I told you I would come. Perhaps I'm too early?"

This put her in a fluster. "No, of course not, my lord." 

He smiled, and then turned to Abby. "I hope you've recovered from the exertions of Lady Lindsay's ball, Miss Derries?"

He was too attractive by far, Emma thought, as she watched Abby assure his lordship after a night's rest, she had quite revived from the fatigues of the ball.

Mr. Pollitt was introduced and his worst fears were realized. Here was a buck of the first hand. Unworldly young women like Emma and Abby, were apt to be too readily impressed by the likes of his lordship. Feeling like a knight of old riding to rescue damsels in distress, he informed his lordship. "I've been charged to look after Miss Napier and Miss Derries."

"We must thank you for your consideration, Mr. Pollitt, but I scarcely think we need inconvenience you," Emma said with some asperity.

"It will be no inconvenience," he declared, and began to inform her of the dangers lurking in wait for every unsuspecting female in London.

"That may be so," Emma interrupted, irritably aware of Desborough's amusement."But I doubt if Abby and I will be in danger under my aunt's auspices."

Mr. Pollitt wanted to retort young women of Emma's willful nature couldn't be relied upon but he was wise enough not to continue in that vein. He was in the midst of informing his very bored audience of one disaster, which had befallen a young lady whom he had heard about from an acquaintance when Lady Matilda returned.

She frowned when she heard him. Mr. Pollitt was forced to stop his discourse when ignoring him, Lady Matilda held out her hand to Desborough, greeting him effusively. "How agreeable to see you, Desborough. I'm delighted you were able to join my tea party."

"The pleasure is all mine, Lady Matilda. I thank you for inviting me." He kissed her hand. "I declare you look younger every time I see you."

"Flatterer." She smiled happily. She hadn't really expected his lordship would grace her afternoon reception. She thought what a sensation his presence would cause among her friends but was sensible enough to realize his sudden attention to Emma scarcely meant marriage. More likely that proposal would come from Mr. Pollitt, she thought gloomily as she glanced towards that individual.

Lady Matilda's drawing room began to fill with guests.

Sir Walter, who had just arrived, whispered to Emma. "I see Lady Matilda's afternoons are gaining in popularity." 

She unobtrusively disengaged her hand from his. "My aunt is delighted at having so many young people as guests. Though she's elderly herself, she says it's no reason to content herself entirely with that company."

"A sensible thought." His look was warm. "But I doubt if the young men come entirely to visit with Lady Matilda."

She gracefully acknowledged his compliment. Her aunt had spoken well of Sir Walter. "A most admirable man," she told Emma. "Quite rich and well sought after. You may have a catch there."

Emma wasn't sure she wanted Sir Walter as a catch. She found him personable and attractive, but it wasn't her intention to marry just yet.

"So you're in charge of the prettiest girl in town," old General Pennington said as he came up to Sir Walter. The General's voice echoed through the room.

Emma blushed as she caught Desborough's glance. She turned away, annoyed by his amusement. She hadn't yet learned to accept compliments with the assurances some sophisticated beauties did and quickly asked General Pennington how he was.

This brought on a description involving an old war wound troubling him.

Mr. Pollitt joined them and was introduced to the General. The two men were drawn to each other immediately. The General soon realized what an avid listener he might have in Mr. Pollitt and Mr. Pollitt discovered in the old soldier, a man who possessed the same views as he did on how society was degenerating. 

Emma and Sir Walter edged away from the pair. "We're indebted to Mr. Pollitt for entertaining General Pennington," he whispered.

Emma nodded, though she felt ungracious at slighting a guest of her aunt's in another's presence. "If I'm lucky enough to reach eighty, I hope my memory is as keen as General Pennington's."

"The General's powers of recall are quite heroic," Sir Walter agreed, smiling.

Emma's attention was drawn to where Abby and Desborough stood apart from the other guests. Abby looked surprised and worried but Desborough seemed to be reassuring her. 

"Shall I procure some tea?" Sir Walter asked.

"Yes, thank you. That will be lovely, Sir Walter." Emma was scarcely aware of his departure. Desborough had taken hold of Abby's hand. Emma hoped she wasn't becoming attracted to his lordship.

Midway through the afternoon, Desborough drew Emma aside much to the disgust of two young men who were vying with each other to impress her with their worldliness. "I've come to say au revoir," he said.

She quelled her disappointment. She hadn't spoken to him except when he first arrived. Composing herself, she said. "It was a pleasure to have your company, my lord."

"The pleasure was all mine, though I've seen little of you. I suspect you've been avoiding me."

With an effort, she controlled her emotions. "I don't know why you should think so, my lord."

"Don't you?" His smile was enigmatic. "I hope to atone for that tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow!"

"Yes, I'll call again tomorrow."

She was agitated. She couldn't continue meeting him, at least not until she was sure their marriage was at an end. If he discovered she was Jane Brown, she could handle his anger better if she knew their marriage was over.

"Have you another engagement?" he asked at her silence.

She couldn't think quickly enough and was forced to hedge. "We planned to visit an art gallery."

"It would give me pleasure to escort you." His dark eyes smiled. "May I?"

She sought desperately for an excuse to refuse him.

"Anytime would be convenient," he continued. When she didn't answer, he asked. "Would two o'clock suit?"

"I suppose so," she agreed, knowing she sounded ungracious.

He didn't seem aware of it. "I see Sir Walter is approaching." He lifted her hand to his lips. "Until tomorrow then."

She watched him walk across the crowded drawing room until he vanished through the wide doorway leading into the hall. She felt she had lost a battle. Now she was forced to plan a visit to an art gallery.

Lady Matilda was surprised when Emma informed her of the proposed expedition. "I wonder at Desborough wishing to attend an art gallery. He has a multitude of paintings and objects d'art in Desborough House and Rowlands, the Sefton country estate, to look at. The Seftons have been prodigious collectors but I must decline, my dear. The walking and standing is so tiring and the corridors so drafty. Your Uncle Hubert was the art collector."

Emma suppressed a smile. The deceased Mr. Hubert Langridge was more interested in the monetary investment of a painting than its aesthetic nature.

"I'm truly pleased at Desborough's offer to escort you," Lady Matilda continued. "He's dreadfully in demand and has all sorts of claims on his time. How envious the society mamas will be."

Emma, too, had wondered at Desborough's invitation. Surely he didn't think she would enjoy a flirtation with him. She remembered his remark at The Three Feathers when he said he might return to find her. He can't think I was the country wench whom he married, she comforted herself. He didn't give the appearance of a man who had been duped. He would be furious when or if he found out. She shivered as she remembered his anger when she refused to marry him. Of course, there was nothing he could do if he did discover she had been his unwilling bride. Not even he could risk the censure polite society would heap upon him if it were learnt he had forced a young woman of quality to marry him.

"Shall you accompany Lord Desborough and me to an art gallery tomorrow afternoon, Abby?" Emma asked that evening.

"Have you forgotten we promised Mr. Pollitt we would walk in the park with him?" 

"You mustn't refuse Desborough's invitation," Lady Matilda counseled. "Mr. Pollitt is always available."

"We could invite him to join us," said Emma, thinking how lucky it was they had accepted his invitation. Desborough wouldn't enjoy his company. She resolved to throw them together as much as possible. With this thought, she was happier. Desborough might not be so keen in future to seek their company when he discovered how dull and boring the society was they kept.

Abby agreed Mr. Pollitt might enjoy a visit to an art gallery. "He's always been interested in your paintings, Emma." And said she would send a note immediately to his lodgings and advise him of their change of plans and invite him to join them.

Emma thought it was as well managed as she could expect. "Now, which art gallery shall we visit?" she asked.

"I thought you and Lord Desborough would have already decided," Abby said in surprise.

"He left the decision to me. Should we try the Beaton Road Gallery?"

"Mrs. Louden said it was a dreadful set up."

Emma had heard Mrs. Louden's views on the Beaton Road Gallery and how inferior the paintings were. She decided it was what she was looking for. "We might see if Mrs. Louden is correct in her evaluation then."

Abby was doubtful. "If you wish to see the Beaton Road Gallery, shouldn't we go by ourselves instead of subjecting our guests to it, if it's as awful as Mrs. Louden declares."

"It's a pretty drive along Beaton Road," Lady Matilda interrupted. "I believe there's an interesting park and herb garden there as well, so if the gallery isn't up to expectation, you could visit the park."

"An excellent suggestion," said Emma who had no intention of continuing their expedition with Desborough in the park, interesting herb garden or not. She hoped he would be thoroughly bored with the gallery and their company, and it would be the last they would see of him.

Later that evening, when she and Emma were alone together, Abby said. "Why didn't you say Lord Desborough was the gentleman who gave up his room to us at The Three Feathers?"

Emma's gaze was wild. "Who told you?"

Abby looked strangely at her. "Lord Desborough, of course. He asked me this afternoon if I'd recovered from my illness in time to board the coach the following morning."

The sneak. Emma was furious. All the time he knew she was Jane Brown. If she had known, she wouldn't have accepted his invitation to escort them tomorrow. If it only concerned herself, she would have no hesitation in canceling the engagement but a note had already arrived from Mr. Pollitt, accepting their invitation, so because of Abby and Mr. Pollitt, she would be obliged to participate in the excursion.

Abby was looking curiously at her. Emma knew she had to give some reason for her silence. "I thought you might worry, Abby. You've had enough to concern you."

"I thank you for your consideration but I'm not so weak minded as that, though I do admit it must have seemed that way at Little Gosford. I should have told Uncle Arthur I wasn't going to accept Mr. Weaverham's proposal if he offered it. Now I think about it, he gave no indication he was about to propose marriage. Probably it was just a thought of my uncle's. I feel guilty about the embarrassment I must have caused him and will apologize if I meet him again. That is, if he will deign to speak with me. I was concerned when Lord Desborough said he saw us at The Three Feathers but when I explained we were forced to get off the coach because I was ill, he said if he'd been acquainted with us, he would have insisted on escorting us to London."

What a hypocrite he was. Emma wished she dared tell Abby just what had happened at The Three Feathers.

"Lord Desborough warned me of the dangers of traveling without a chaperon. I told him there was a reason why we were forced into it and to give him his due, he refrained from asking what it was. When I begged him not to tell anyone he'd met us or rather you at The Three Feathers, he assured me he'd had no intention of doing so and advised me not to remark upon it to anyone either. He's such an understanding man."

With difficulty, Emma stopped from relating just how disagreeable and threatening his lordship had been.

"Lord Desborough looks very much like the painting of your gypsy, doesn't he?" Abby remarked.

Emma glared at her. "I don't think he looks at all like my gypsy as you call him."

Abby was startled at her ill humor.

Emma repented at venting her anger of his lordship on her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so cross."

Abby wondered why Emma should hold his lordship in such dislike. She thought it must be because she was fearful Desborough would gossip about their journey to London. How worrying it had been for her. She was glad she was able to allay her fears.

Emma's greeting was cold when she met Desborough the next day. Against her will, she was forced into allowing him to accompany her outside to where his carriage waited in charge of a groom but all her maneuvering that he didn't escort her around the gallery was to no avail. Somehow she found herself in his company while Abby and Mr. Pollitt walked ahead but she was glad they were alone. She was determined to speak to him about the marriage. "Lord Desborough," she began as she tried to control the trembling in her voice. "I don't appreciate the method you used to get information from Abby. Then to pretend you'd given up your room to us when instead you threatened to evict Abby from it if I didn't agree to your...your.." 

He understood immediately. His tone was conciliatory. "My dear Emma. I may call you Emma, may I, seeing we're in a way related, but what was I to do? You were determined you weren't Jane Brown, a name I thought suspect from the beginning if you remember?"

"We did have a maid by that name." Emma was defensive.

"Well, please accept my apologies on that count. As to evicting you from my room, I'm sure I wouldn't have been guilty of such an ungentlemanly act, whatever I may have said at the time." He smiled charmingly at her.

Emma was incensed. He was full of deceit and twisted every word to suit his purpose. "Now you know who I am, what do you intend to do?" she demanded.

He looked surprised. "What would you have me do?"

"What has happened about the annulment?" Ahead of them, Emma heard Abby's light laughter. Only a short time ago, it was Abby wishing her life away. Not that she thought of any such thing but how agreeable it was to be without problems. That had been her life at Lansdown.

"The annulment is still being finalized."

"You said it would only take several weeks." 

He smiled at her accusation. "It is only several."

"It took place six weeks ago," she corrected him. "Several is generally thought of being three or four."

"You're being very literal."

She sensed he was determined not to argue with her. If she persisted in her anger, she would only appear childish but she wanted to worry him. "My aunt tells me marriage to you is the aim of every young and not so young spinster in society."

His voice was bland as he answered. "I remember telling you that at The Three Feathers." 

She gritted her teeth. "You'd best look out I don't hold you to your promises, my lord." 

"Would you like to be a marchioness?"

She glared at him. "You missed my meaning."

"Did I? How dull of me. Now, what are you saying? Are you warning me if I don't have the marriage annulled immediately, you may wish to stay married?" 

"I didn't mean that at all. You know I didn't." She found her voice had risen. She whispered fiercely. "You promised it would take three weeks to have the marriage annulled."

He looked contrite. "I don't know if I promised an exact time. If I did, I'm sorry but it isn't really my fault."

She wanted to accuse him it was his entire fault. She fumbled in her reticule and held out the signet ring.

"What is it?" he asked. 

"Your ring," she hissed.

"Give it to me when the annulment is finalized." 

She still held the ring, but he refused to take it. He was laughing, the laughter creasing his eyes. She stifled the urge to throw it at him and thrust the ring back into her reticule. 

Later he asked. "Are you attending Almacks tomorrow evening?"

"Yes," she snapped. "Why do you ask?"

He smiled at her sharp tone. "To continue our waltzing lessons. I go only because of you."

"There's no need to put yourself out."

"I don't," he assured her. "I enjoy it. I haven't had the pleasure of teaching anyone to waltz before." He smiled, the smile lighting his dark eyes.

She thought how handsome he was and how easy it would be for any unsuspecting female, even herself, to succumb to his charm if one didn't know his true character. In the eyes of the law he was her husband. He should be concerned, but he gave all the appearance of enjoying the situation.


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Five

 

The gallery was as inferior as Mrs. Louden described. It was a poor show, badly set up and ill lit but even if it had been a display of excellence, Emma would not have enjoyed it. She was too conscious of the man beside her. So less than an hour after they had entered the gallery, they stood on the steps outside again.

Across the road was the back entrance to the park Lady Matilda had spoken about. In the distance was the roof of a tea shop. "Should we continue our afternoon with a walk in the park?" Mr. Pollitt suggested.

"It sounds a delightful proposition." Abby turned to Emma. "What do you say, Emma?"

Emma agreed it was. She said to Desborough. "If you have another engagement, my lord, we can easily hire a cab to return to my aunt's."

"I don't have another engagement. One would suspect you wished to be rid of me," he whispered so the others couldn't hear. 

"Whatever makes you think so, my lord." Emma’s voice was cold.

Mr. Pollitt might also wish to be rid of his lordship. Despite all his broad hints, he found him difficult to dislodge from the side of Emma and he was forced to content himself with Abby's company. He thought Abby would make a most compliant wife, more so than Emma, who was showing herself to be more headstrong than he had suspected.

They crossed the road and stopped at a rickety wooden gate. Beyond the gate was the beginning of a narrow cobbled path overhung with lilacs and scented syringa.

"It seems a little used entrance," Mr. Pollitt said. "We should walk around to the front of the park."

He went to move on but Emma said. "It looks interesting. Who knows what secrets it holds."

To Mr. Pollitt's vexation, she pushed open the gate and entered the park.

"The path is constricted by branches and I fear there'll be a surfeit of spider webs," he warned as he followed Emma through the gate. 

"Shall you allow a few spiders to scare you, Mr. Pollitt?"

"You misunderstood me," he began.

Emma turned to Desborough. "What about you, my lord? Shall a few spiders frighten you?"

Desborough glanced at the path where the sunlight shafting through the trees had caught several webs in its light. "It seems there might be more than a few. Pollitt is sensible in declining to lead the way."

Mr. Pollitt said they were wrong in thinking he was concerned by a few paltry spiders and their webs."I'm willing to go first though it's against my better judgment."

"You shouldn't tease Mr. Pollitt," Abby whispered to Emma as she picked up a stick to sweep the webs aside as she set out on the path. 

"He deserves it. He's so full of himself but you're right. I'll try to be more circumspect."

The path became more constricted, as branches of straggling trees grew tangled together and shut out the sunlight.

"Where are you leading us, Abby?" Emma asked in a playful voice.

Abby turned, smiling. "I wish I knew."

With great difficulty, Mr. Pollitt refrained from remarking they would have done better to have heeded his advice and entered the park at the main gate. "Should I go ahead?" he suggested

"I don't see what difference it would make," said Emma. "Besides, the path is barely wide enough for one let alone two to pass."

As she finished speaking, two small girls skipped into view. A gentleman followed them at a more leisurely pace. 

Abby turned to Emma with a look of alarm. "It's Mr. Weaverham," she whispered in horror.

Emma tried to peer around Abby and through the overhanging branches to catch a glimpse of the approaching Mr. Weaverham.

"What shall I do?" Abby trembled in apprehension.

"I hope we aren't required to retrace our steps," said Mr. Pollitt who hadn't heard Abby. "We should have entered the park by way of the main gate as I proposed. I'll suggest to the gentleman he might like to return the way he came."

"You can't ignore him, Abby," Emma whispered, disregarding Mr. Pollitt and watching as Adrian Weaverham advanced inexorably towards them.

Abby shuddered and swallowed nervously as Adrian Weaverham, a short distance away, paused, and then smiled faintly as he recognized her. He raised his hat as he moved towards her. "Ah, Miss Derries, what a surprise to meet you here."

Abby reddened and was unable to speak.

Adrian Weaverham glanced past her to Emma.

"My friend, Miss Emma Napier," Abby said, finding her voice.

"We meet at last, Miss Napier. How do you do."

Emma colored at the derisive tone in his voice.

"And Mr. Pollitt and Lord Desborough," Abby continued as she tried to stand to one side of the path so the gentlemen could see each other.

"How do you do, Mr. Weaverham," called Mr. Pollitt, who was hampered by the forms of Emma and Abby and the two small girls between him and Adrian Weaverham.

Adrian answered, and then waved in acknowledgment to Desborough.

So they knew each other, Emma thought. Not that she was surprised. They were both of a kind but she was startled by the presence of the two little girls.

"Allow me to present my daughters, Jenny and Fanny," Adrian said.

Emma sensed Abby's astonishment. Hadn't she known of Mr. Weaverham's two daughters, she wondered?

Adrian glanced at his daughters. "The path is too narrow to allow one to pass in comfort, my dear. I'm afraid we must retrace our steps."

The little girls began to protest, but they were stopped by their father's stern expression.

"I'm sorry," Abby began.

Adrian interrupted in his light tone. "Why do you apologize, Miss Derries? It's as much our fault as yours we meet here."

Abby blushed and fell silent.

"We're looking for fairies," Fanny explained to Abby.

Abby regained some of her composure at this statement. "I don't think we saw any, did we, Emma?"

Emma shook her head.

Mr. Pollitt was disapproving. "Children shouldn't be encouraged to believe in fairies. I never did."

Adrian glanced derisively at Mr. Pollitt. 

Abby laughed nervously. "You are a damper, Mr. Pollitt."

Emma turned to Desborough. "What are your views, my lord?"

"I must plead ignorance on such matters."

"Spoken like a man of tact or are you too craven to make your thoughts known?"

"I'll leave that for you to determine."

After this spirited exchange between Emma and his lordship, and with Adrian Weaverham seeming more approachable, some of Abby's confusion was dispelled and she was able to look him in the face. He was smiling at her.

"I'll lead the way to the main area of the park, Miss Derries," Adrian said. When they reached the open area, he asked. "In which direction are you going?"

It was Desborough who answered. "I believe none of us have been here before."

"Would you like me to escort you around the park?" Adrian spoke directly to Desborough.

"An excellent proposal. I'm sure the ladies will agree."

Adrian continued to Abby. "I think you'll enjoy the park. It's renown for its herb gardens."

Mr. Pollitt who was standing beside her, muttered. "Only herbs."

Adrian overheard, and explained in a cold voice. "Of course, there are other plants and vegetation here as well."

Concerned Mr. Pollitt had offended him, Abby said quickly."I'm interested in herbs, Mr. Weaverham."

He smiled. "I'm not surprised. I remember the excellent herb plot you have at Clapham, which your uncle is so proud of." He ignored her embarrassment at his reference to her uncle and Clapham. Taking her arm, he asked. "How are you enjoying London?"

"Very much." She wondered what her uncle had told him. He didn't behave like a man who might suspect he was the cause of her running away from home. 

"Where are you staying?" he asked.

"With Emma's aunt, Lady Matilda Langridge."

"I'm well acquainted with Lady Matilda. She's a charming person."

"She's made us very welcome and is intent on introducing us to all manner of things."

He laughed. "I can well imagine."

It was remarkable how relaxed she felt in his company. At Clapham, she had been in dread at being alone with him, but now. She paused beside a patch of basil, wondering at her change of feeling. The whorls of the white flowers among the broad leaves made her suddenly homesick for the gardens at Clapham. Picking and drying herbs was a task she, and her aunt and uncle shared.

"Have you a favorite herb, Miss Derries?" Adrian asked.

"I think it must be the basil."

He picked a leaf and rolled it between his fingers. "It has an overpowering aroma. What do you use it for?"

"It's known as the tomato herb and is used mainly in tomato dishes, though I've heard in the Mediterranean it's thought to keep insects away."

"And does it?"

"I don't know. Are you interested in herbs?"

He shook his head. "I haven't been but it seems I've missed an interesting activity. I confess I come here because it's the nearest park to my house across the square over there." He pointed ahead of them.

Mr. Pollitt viewed Abby and Adrian's tete-e- tete with suspicion. "Is it wise for Miss Derries to be escorted by Mr. Weaverham," he whispered to Emma.

She glanced to where Abby and Adrian stood together. She was surprised at how contented Abby looked as she chatted to him and was unwilling to force herself on their company. Adrian Weaverham had shown his dislike of her at their introduction, though she wouldn't have allowed it to trouble her if it meant rescuing Abby from him. 

Mr. Pollitt didn't wait for her to answer. "I'll join them." He strode purposely to where Abby and Adrian moved slowly along the path between the herb plots.

Desborough glanced after his stout form. "Have I been mistaken that it's not you but Miss Derries to whom Pollitt is enamored."

Emma flushed. 

"Am I correct?" he probed.

She was prim. "You're inquisitive, my lord. I thought matters of the heart would be more in the domain of my aunt and her friends than yours."

He laughed and took her arm, threading it through his and holding it there when she might have pulled away.

They were two such clever men, Emma thought, as she strolled beside Desborough in the warm sunshine. Here she was on friendly terms with a man who a few weeks earlier had forced her to marry him, and Abby gave the appearance of enjoying the company of a man who was the cause of her running away from home.

Ahead of them, beyond the herb gardens, was a tea shop, the roof of which they had glimpsed from the steps of the art gallery. Outside in the sunshine, its patrons gathered at tables topped by gay striped awnings. 

Fanny skipped to the side of her father. "May we have a lemonade, please, papa?" she begged.

Adrian glanced at Desborough. "Will you and your party like to join us for tea, Desborough?"

"It sounds an agreeable suggestion. I'm sure the ladies will be happy to accept."

Emma and Abby were only too ready to sit on the comfortable chairs and enjoy lemonade and cakes but Mr. Pollitt wasn't. He said to Emma. "Does Lady Matilda expect you for tea?"

"What makes you think so?" Emma was annoyed at his proprietary manner. She glanced at Desborough and said loudly enough for his lordship to hear. "My aunt will be pleased at us having tea with Lord Desborough."

While the others seated themselves at a table, Desborough drew Emma aside."Are you always so difficult with Pollitt?" he murmured so the others didn't hear. 

"Mr. Pollitt lacks a sense of humor and I'm doing him a kindness in teaching him."

"Do you think you'll succeed?" 

"One never knows. The thing is not to give up."

As Mr. Pollitt took a seat, he thought he hadn't realized how wayward Miss Napier could be. He said to Abby. "I abhor eating in public places like this."

"You shouldn't mind it here, Mr. Pollitt," Abby soothed as she sat on the chair, which Adrian held out for her. "It's a delightful spot."

"Don't you like taking tea with us, Mr. Pollitt?" Jenny asked, her little face serious as she sat beside him.

Before he could answer, Fanny said from the other side of him. "I'll ask papa to order a plate of cakes. Do you like cakes, Mr. Pollitt?" 

"We do," Jenny said before he could reply. 

The little girls ignored his ill humor. When they weren't talking to Emma and Abby, they chattered with each other across him. Occasionally they brought him into the conversation. "Do you have a cat, Mr. Pollitt?"

"I don't like cats."

"We have a white cat," Jenny said. "We've had her since she was a kitten." 

"Her name is Thomasina," said Fanny. "Oh, here are the cakes."

The serving maid, dressed in a pink candy striped frock and frilly white cap and apron, set jugs of lemonade and dish of cakes on the table.

"Ooh," the little girls said as they gazed at the pink and chocolate iced cup cakes.

"Aren't they lovely," Fanny breathed. She turned to Abby. "Will you have a pink cake or chocolate cake, Miss Derries?"

"I'll have a pink cake, thank you." Abby took a bite of one. "Mm. Lovely." She smiled at the little girls.

Emma remarked to Desborough as she passed a glass of lemonade to him. "I suspect this is the first time you've taken part in such an outing, my lord?" 

His look was quizzical. "I must admit my opportunities to do so have been limited but I'm so enjoying it, I'm considering proposing further expeditions."

She felt a sudden friendliness towards him. He was behaving so agreeably. Soon their marriage would be over and she would have no more worries than the white swans gliding serenely on the small lake opposite the tea shop.

All too soon there was no longer any excuse to linger. "It's been a pleasant afternoon, Mr. Weaverham," Abby said. She glanced at Jenny and Fanny. "It's a wonder you're able to walk with all that cake and lemonade inside of you."

"I ate three cup cakes," said Jenny proudly. "Two pink ones and a chocolate one."

It was on such a note they parted, with Adrian promising he would call on them at Langridge house.

Walking with Abby, Mr. Pollitt remarked. "From what my sister said of Mr. Weaverham, it was a surprise to find him escorting two small girls around the park."

Abby blushed a rosy pink. "Mr. Weaverham appears devoted to his small daughters."

Mr. Pollitt glanced at her, and then to where Emma and Desborough walked ahead. He began a long preamble, the gist of which seemed to be that persons in the form of Adrian Weaverham and Lord Desborough should be avoided at all cost.

"So you'd already met Adrian Weaverham?" Desborough queried as he and Emma reached the place where his lordship had instructed his driver and carriage to wait.

"No, I hadn’t met him. He was a guest of the Derries." Emma thought Desborough was determined to know everything about her while she scarcely knew anything about him, except he had to have a wife.

"Did you enjoy the afternoon?" Desborough asked as he handed Abby into the carriage. 

"Very much. Jenny and Fanny are dear little girls."

"Weaverham has a big job, bringing them up by himself."

"I hope Lady Matilda isn't too upset at our late arrival," said Mr. Pollitt to Emma but in a voice loud enough for all to hear.

"I'm sure she won't be," said Emma as they turned into the square to Langridge House.

Desborough refused Abby's invitation to join them as he set them down outside Langridge House. As he bade them farewell, he promised to call on them the next day.

Entering Langridge House, Emma, Abby and Mr. Pollitt found Mr. and Mrs. Trigwell and their daughter Florence, partaking in a late afternoon tea with Lady Matilda. 

At their arrival, Lady Matilda sent for another pot of tea and introduced the Trigwells to Mr. Pollitt. 

Emma and Abby declared they couldn't eat another thing but not so Mr. Pollitt. He tucked into the cucumber sandwiches and orange cake and began to inform Lady Matilda and her guests with the doings of the afternoon.

When Lady Matilda heard about their meeting with Adrian Weaverham, she was delighted.

"Mr. Weaverham said he might call on you," Abby told her. She wondered if she had overstepped her role of guest in agreeing to his visit.

"It will be a pleasure to have Adrian call." Lady Matilda found it difficult to hide her triumph. First Desborough and now Adrian Weaverham. "I was very fond of his wife, Rose."

"Rose Weaverham was such a sweet person." Mrs. Trigwell glanced at Abby. "You remind me of her, my dear. Don't you think so, Matilda?" 

"Abby has the same gentle manner, though I would say she's not exactly like her in looks."

Mr. Pollitt viewed the two matrons with disapproval. He forecast disaster if Lady Matilda were to promote a relationship between Abby and Adrian Weaverham.

When Mr. and Mrs. Trigwell, who knew the herb gardens well, remarked on their excellence, Mr. Pollitt spoke for some time on the improvements he would make if they were under his direction. 

At this, even Lady Matilda's good manners were strained. Her voice was regal as she said to Mr. Trigwell."Come, Mr. Trigwell, I've been meaning to show you my roses." 

With alacrity that gentleman rose to his feet. 

"Pray don't stop for us," Lady Matilda exhorted Mr. Pollitt as he paused in surprise at her abrupt interruption.

Emma and Abby were left to play the hostess. This they did with scarcely any strain taxing their energies, thanks to Miss Trigwell.

Emma thought Florence Trigwell was a pleasant, ready to please young woman, with a sallow round face and thin brown hair. She was well dressed in the latest style and appeared to be competent and sure of herself in spite of her plainness. Emma thought she would have no difficulty in running the largest of households but because of her ill looks, had been on the shelf these past ten years. Emma deplored the fact that men looked for beauty rather than sense in a wife. Florence was proving a good listener too, as Mr. Pollitt began to weary everyone in describing the visit to the art gallery, that is, everyone except Florence, and to a lesser extent, Mrs. Trigwell.

Florence appeared interested in everything, which Mr. Pollitt saw, and made such sensible remarks, he abandoned all attempts to capture the attentions of Emma and Abby and conversed entirely to Florence with Mrs. Trigwell adding an occasional remark but eventually even Mrs. Trigwell had sufficient of Mr. Pollitt's company and said to her daughter they should consider returning home. She asked Emma. "Would your aunt and Mr. Trigwell have completed their tour of the rose garden, my dear?"

Emma sent a footman to inform Mr. Trigwell of his spouse's desire to leave. 

Soon after the Trigwells departure, Mr. Pollitt was forced to take his leave too. With little subtly, Emma declared the events of the afternoon had exhausted her and she would like to rest before dinner. 

Not even Mr. Pollitt's obtuseness could ignore this broad hint. As he left, he promised to call on them on the morrow.

Emma and Abby retired to Emma's bedroom. "Surely we haven't sinned so much we're to suffer Mr. Pollitt's company every day," Emma complained as she flopped in an unladylike manner on the bed. "He seems determined to overlook our misdemeanors."

"So it appears. I think you'd make Mr. Pollitt a terrible wife." 

"Heaven forbid if that were to happen. I'm glad we met Mr. Weaverham. Now you can be comfortable."

"Yes."

"He seems an easy man to converse with."

"Yes."

"Do you mind he is calling on us?"

"I found him very agreeable. I wonder what happened to his wife?"

"We must ask Aunt Matilda. She seems to have known her well."

At dinner that evening, Emma brought up the subject of Adrian Weaverham's wife.

"It was a sad business," Lady Matilda told them. "Rose Weaverham was killed instantly when her carriage overturned. She was such a pretty woman. Adrian was devastated by her death."

"How tragic for him and the little girls." There was anguish on Abby's face.

Lady Matilda was pragmatic. "It happened years ago when the children were infants. I daresay Adrian has recovered from his grief. One can't live forever in the past." 

Abby was silent. She felt a bond with the little girls who, like her, had no memory of their mother. 

Lady Matilda continued, "Adrian's company will be a change from General Pennington, who is such a dear man but all those battles. I feel as if I've fought every one with him, not once, but many times. As for Mr. Pollitt. Such a tiresome man. I hope we're not going to see too much of him."

Lady Matilda's wish wasn't to be realized. Mr. Pollitt was a daily caller at Langridge House. He had many sight seeing suggestions for Emma and Abby to consider but luckily their time was taken up with other activities and they were able with clear consciences to refuse most of his invitations. 

Florence Trigwell was a constant visitor too. She didn't seem to mind Mr. Pollitt's company and even accepted some of the invitations Emma and Abby refused.

Lady Matilda whispered, "Mr. Pollitt and dear Florence should be well suited to each other." 

Emma glanced to where Florence and Mr. Pollitt conversed together. "Seriously, aunt, do you think Florence would consider him as a husband?"

"When one is as plain as poor Florence, one must take what comes along. She will be well set up, a fact known by the fortune hunters but she's too sensible a woman to be caught by one of them. Mr. Pollitt is scarcely likely to squander her inheritance. Dear Florence will have seen the potential in Mr. Pollitt. 

"But you don't care for him, aunt?" 

"But I'm not seeking a husband, my dear, which is what every young woman should be about." With these words of wisdom, Lady Matilda rose to greet Adrian Weaverham who had been ushered into the drawing room.



.




Chapter Six 

 

Although Emma had received three letters from Gerald, each one giving the date of his arrival in London, her days were so full of engagements, she was surprised when a footman arrived in the small ante room where she was arranging a vase of flowers, with the message a Mr. Gerald Myers waited upon her.

She hurried along the passage and into the drawing room and greeted him warmly. "It's marvelous to see you, Gerald," she said as they embraced.

Gerald stood back, scarcely believing this beautiful, glowing creature in the modish sprig muslin gown, was really the Emma who he had known in Little Gosford. "You look different," he said, suddenly feeling shy.

She laughed. "It's fashionable clothes and hairstyles, my dear. Take no notice of them." She turned and gazed in the oval mirror above the fireplace, smiling as she primped the back of her hair. "I must admit, I find it amazing at how well I look but enough of that. Tell me, how are things with you?"

"I've been bored to death. I thought the weeks would never pass. When the Hunts put off their journey, I nearly jumped on my horse and came by myself."

"Poor Gerald." Emma thought he had lost none of his theatrics in the weeks since she had seen him. "When did you arrive in town?"

"Last night. I came to see you as soon as I could. The Hunts are busy unpacking and organizing their household."

"Did you have a good journey?"

He nodded. "The Hunt's carriage is well sprung. I must persuade the Squire to order one like it but I daresay he won't. He never takes notice of what I say."

Emma was sympathetic. It was too bad of the Squire to treat Gerald like a boy. "Abby and I will call upon Mrs. Hunt and Melissa when they have settled in and recovered from their journey. I hope they suffered no ill effects from it?"

"We traveled in easy stages. Mrs. Hunt insisted on setting up early for the night."

"It would be a tiring journey for all that." Emma remembered the harrowing experience of the London coach. "What do the Hunts say about our sudden departure to London?"

"Nothing. Mama told Mrs. Hunt that you and Abby had gone to meet your brother."

Emma was grateful to Mrs. Myers. "I hope your papa didn't put too much blame on you."

"I was expecting anything as you know but after I'd explained everything to the Squire; he said I should have gone with you. He was dreadfully anxious about you and Abby. I don't think I ever saw him so worried."

Emma didn't know what to say about the Squire's concern.

"Papa visited with Mr. Derries and gave him a piece of his mind. Mrs. Derries told my mother they had a great argument," Gerald ended with relish.

"I wonder if it's because of your father's visit that Mr. Derries wrote to Abby and told her to remain in London. He sent a large sum of money too."

"Did he? And he's such an old skinflint. It's embarrassing for Mr. Derries that Abby ran away from home."

"Do many people know she did?" Emma asked the question worrying her and Abby.

"Only my parents and Mrs. Purse know the real story. Mrs. Purse came immediately to the squire the moment she read your note. My father has advised her since. She was in a great stir, as you'd imagine. She was very cross with my part in it and I had to apologize profusely."

"Poor nanny. I'm always receiving letters from her, begging me to return home. She expects something dreadful will happen to me in London."

"I shouldn't concern yourself with Mrs. Purse. She's well occupied in visiting with Mrs. Derries. Mrs. Derries has remained in her rooms since Abby's departure. Mama says she's well but suspects she wants to avoid Mr. Derries company."

"What does Mr. Derries do?" Emma tried to imagine the irascible Mr. Derries alone in the huge drawing room at Clapham House.

"He's taken to calling on his neighbors. He visits with papa, which doesn't enthrall him but papa says every neighborhood has its cross to bear and Mr. Derries is Little Gosford's."

"How like your papa."

Gerald nodded. "It seems everything has turned out well after all."

"Yes. There's something I should tell you. We've met Mr. Weaverham. He often visits here and has escorted us to various functions. I find him a personable friendly man and can't understand why Abby took a dislike to him."

"To say I'm flabbergasted is an understatement. So all our trouble was for naught. When I think of the bother and expense I went to in hiring that carriage from the Jeffries to take you to Chippendale!" Gerald looked darkly at Emma. "Old man Jeffries overcharged me woefully, you know."

"You were a tower of strength," she soothed. "You'll be surprised at the change in Abby. She's positively blooming. I'm sure she wasn't at all well in Little Gosford. I don't think any of us realized the stress she'd been under at Clapham. Her uncle is an old despot."

"She should have stood up for herself. Old Mr. Derries wouldn't have got away with his moods with me. What does Mr. Weaverham say about her running off? It must have been an embarrassment for him?"

"Perhaps he doesn't know why she left home. I'm sure he hasn't said anything. She would have mentioned it if he had."

"Is my uncle still in London? He left Little Gosford determined to play the knight errant. You should have heard him when it was discovered that I'd helped you off to London. If my uncle had his way, he would have had me put in the stocks."

"Poor Gerald. Surely Mr. Pollitt wouldn't have proposed such an archaic punishment!"

"Perhaps not but let's not talk of my uncle. Tell me, what have you been doing?"

"Just about everything." And for the next hour, Emma regaled the envious Gerald with her concerns.

They were interrupted by the arrival of Miles Louden. 

Miles, all of twenty, had been fascinated by Emma from their first meeting. Dazzled by the beautiful candid young woman who was so different from the simpering debutantes, he was prepared to fall instantly in love with her. He was somewhat put out to discover this unknown young man who seemed to be on such intimate terms with his new found goddess.

Emma greeted him in her usual friendly manner. "Miles, how fortunate you called. Let me introduce you to Gerald Myers who lives in Little Gosford too." She turned to Gerald, explaining. "Miles is one of our new friends. He's been so good introducing us into the way of things. Perhaps he might do the same for you." She smiled at Miles.

"It will be my pleasure." Miles was overcome by her charm. 

Gerald was irked by Emma's implication he was as unsophisticated as she apparently considered herself and Abby to be but he was soon placated when Miles offered to squire him to one of the lesser known London clubs that evening.

"Don't get into mischief," Emma warned as they took their leave of her.

Gerald felt she was damaging his standing with this bright young sprig of society. "I know how to look after myself," he told her sharply. 

"I'll keep an eye on him." Miles winked at Gerald. As they stepped into the hall, he said. "Women are great worriers. My mother frets about everything." 

Gerald was pleased to discover this seemingly sophisticated young man had the same parental problems as himself. His confidence rose to the extent that he admitted. "So does mine."

"Emma Napier is a real beauty, isn't she?" said Miles as they went down the steps of Langridge House. "Have you known her long?"

"We grew up together."

"Lucky you. She's all the rage but one scarcely gets a look in. Desborough's bent on cutting everyone out."

Gerald was startled. "Who's Desborough?"

"The Marquis of Desborough. He's a fearful rake and has a devil of a reputation." Miles sounded envious. "Fryer-Smith is making a play for her too. He's the one with the serious intentions. Desborough is probably amusing himself. He already has a mistress."

Gerald took an instant dislike to this unknown nobleman who was treating Emma in such a cavalier fashion. He was about to inquire more about his lordship when Miles asked. "Are you interested in prize fighting?"

"Oh, yes," said Gerald who hadn't been to a prizefight in his life, and all thoughts of Emma flew from his mind.

"Jack Sloper is fighting Harry Gibb. Would you like to come?" 

"Oh, yes."

"Great! A few friends and I are going to make up a party? It should be a grand fight."

Gerald agreed it was sure to be. He listened avidly while Miles spoke of the various fights he had witnessed and the money he had won and lost. 

"I have a hot tip Jack Sloper will win," Miles said as they rounded the corner from Graham Square. "I've a guinea sitting he does." 

Gerald could only view his newfound friend with admiration. It fired his ambition even more to reach the same pinnacle of sophistication. 

Emma confided her anxiety about Gerald to Abby and the two young women discussed the dangers lurking in London for youths of Gerald's inexperience. 

Desborough, who had arrived early to attend Lady Matilda's at home, said in an amused voice. "All young men have to cut their milk teeth, however painful the experience."

Abby had taken Adrian Weaverham into the library where she promised to show him a set of prints, which the late Mr. Langridge had brought back from Paris. 

Emma and Desborough remained alone in the drawing room. "You speak like a grandfather," Emma retorted. "You must only be a few years older than Gerald."

"That may be so, but it would take young Myers years, if ever, to match my experience."

"That I don't doubt."

He took her hand and kissed it, saying. "You look as lovely as a rose, my dear, but like the rose, you have prickly thorns."

"Tell me," she said as she withdrew her hand from his. "Are all London gentlemen adept at making such fancy speeches?"

"Did that sound like a fancy speech?"

"What do you think?" Before he could answer, she asked. "Have you had word about the annulment yet?"

It was a moment before he answered. "It's progressing."

"That's what you said last week. Surely you must know when it will be finalized?"

"I don't."

She fumed. "What if I received an offer of marriage?"

He looked at her with interest. "Has someone asked you to marry them?"

"No."

"Why worry then?"

"It's so uncomfortable being in this position. I feel such a fraud accepting other men's attentions."

"You could refuse them."

"Why should I? I enjoy their compliments and their flattery amuses me no end but I feel it's unfair allowing them to dance attendance on me. It would be embarrassing if it was discovered I was, that I was..."

"Already married!"

She scowled. "I live in dread Aunt Matilda will discover it. It would be such a disappointment for her."

"Marriage to me a disappointment! Surely not?"

She glared at him."You know what I mean? Aunt Matilda would consider I'd ruined myself."

"She'd be correct if the circumstances of our marriage became known."

"A lot you care, my lord."

"You mistake me, my dear Emma. My aim is to see your reputation comes out of this without a blemish."

"It's all your fault." She couldn't keep the misery and accusation from her voice. 

"Maybe." He sounded gentle. "But you aren't without blame. For two young women to travel by themselves on the London coach is the outside of folly." His expression was stern. "When I think what could have happened to you."

"We would have been all right if Abby hadn't become ill and you hadn't been at that inn." 

His smile was mocking.

She was annoyed. "It's a wonder your cousin doesn't demand more evidence that you're married than a flimsy bit of paper."

"He would if he could."

"Then why doesn't he?"

"Because he's dead, my dear."

"You didn't." She balked at saying murder.

He said it for her. "Murder him! No, my love, though I may have done if it was the only way to gain control of my inheritance." 

Overcoming her shock, she said, "Dare I ask what happened to him?"

"The curricle he was driving overturned. He was a lamentable driver. Death was instantaneous, I believe."

"Don't you regret your cousin's demise?"

"Why should I? I scarcely knew him. I did my best to avoid him, as did my grandfather. If it hadn't been for my involvement in a pretty messy affair that upset my grandfather considerably, my cousin would never have had control of the estate." There was fleeting regret in his dark eyes. He continued, his usual sardonic self. "My grandfather confused my licentiousness with my ability to manage the Sefton inheritance. The two are entirely separate."

"Why did you have to marry if your cousin was dead?"

"The accident occurred several days after our marriage." His voice inflected slightly upon 'our marriage'. "My cousin was hurrying to London; I suppose to query the validity of the marriage. He wasn't of a mind to give up his stewardship so readily."

"So the marriage is legal?"

"Very legal. Did you doubt it wasn't?"

"I thought that pitiful specimen of a priest would have been disbarred from the church."

"What his future is in the church, is their affair but at the time, he was entitled to officiate at a marriage ceremony. The lawyers were content with his name upon our marriage contract. It saved them the trouble of appointing another to manage the estate." His smile was wry. "Don't look so concerned, my dear. My cousin's death was no great loss. I understand his widow, after the first display of grief, has settled happily into her role of widowhood." 

Emma was appalled. "How terrible."

"Why should it be? It was a marriage of convenience on either side. Though it produced no children, I suspect it was why my cousin married. He had a great sense of family in a perverted way. I think he hoped to inherit the title." 

"It would be terrible marrying for convenience. I never will."

"You already have, my dear."

"That was for your convenience and I don't call it a marriage either."

"I'm afraid the law does though."

She was so incensed it took all her control to converse normally when Abby and Adrian returned to the drawing room.

For the next hour, she avoided his lordship but when he looked to be amusing himself among Lady Matilda's guests, illogically she tried to ignore the disappointment that he hadn't sought her company. She had organized the maids at the tea table and having sent them for more hot water, was waiting for their return when she overheard two matrons gossiping nearby. 

"I never thought to see Desborough as a guest at dear Matilda's," one said. "Someone should advise her what a dissolute character he is."

"The talk is all over town about him and...." The other matron lowered her voice.

Much as she strained to hear, Emma missed the name.

"They have no shame," her companion agreed.

It took all of Emma's control not to turn in the dowagers’ direction.

The maids returned with the hot water. Emma sent one with a tray of tea and the other with sandwiches and cake among the guests. After they left, she stood alone by the table. The day that had began so brightly and now seemed as bleak as the weather outside, which a sudden rain squall had turned a summer's day into one resembling winter. "Why so pensive?"

Startled, Emma turned at Desborough's voice. "Am I?" she stuttered. She tried to compose herself. 

"You look weary."

"I am a little. I find these afternoons tiring."

"I thought you enjoyed them?"

She was flustered by his ironical expression. "I've been going about too much, I think." She saw he held an empty teacup. "Would you like some more tea?"

"No, thank you." He placed the cup and saucer on the tray of used crockery. "I came to take my leave of you. Will you miss me?" he asked when she didn't answer. His dark eyes were mocking.

"Of course."

He laughed. "You should be more coy, my love. Declare you're not quite sure."

She was depressed by his bantering. London society was so superficial and there was no one more so than his lordship who pretended an attachment to her, which they both knew was entirely false.

"I'll call again tomorrow and will hope to find you in better spirits."

"Don't put yourself out if you have other business to attend."

He looked amused. "What business have I which is more important than coming here?" 

"I'm sure I don't know." She wanted to tell him about the conversation she had overheard between the two dowagers but she didn't want to see that mocking look on his face. He might even tell her about his mistresses. He didn't seem concerned at what turn their conversation took when they were alone.

"I must devise something which will entertain you more than Lady Matilda's tea parties, admirable as they are." He lifted her hand to his lips. "Au revoir until tomorrow, my dear."

The next morning he sent a message, inviting her to take a drive with him in the afternoon. "I'll arrive at two," his note ended.

She was annoyed by his confident expectation that she would consent to his proposal.

When Lady Matilda heard about the invitation, she was delighted but her pleasure turned to alarm when Emma pondered aloud whether she should accept.

"You wouldn't refuse Desborough surely?" Lady Matilda was horrified Emma might offend this all too eligible bachelor.

"I suppose not. After all, Lord Desborough's company does enhance one's standing in society."

"Really, Emma, I don't know when to take you seriously. I hope you don't speak to Desborough in such a manner. I feel he must have some serious intentions. He's been so attentive."

Emma might agree, though it wasn't for the reason her aunt suspected. Two could play at that game. She would take the pleasure Desborough chose to put her way and when the marriage was annulled, she would take great delight in telling him that she had no intention of becoming his mistress.

The next afternoon, she was all smiles and good humor when Desborough arrived. She allowed him to escort her to his carriage and behaved as if they were the best of friends. As she sat beside him, she said. "Should I ask where we're going?"

"I thought we might take tea in the park. Would that be to your satisfaction?"

Her voice was composed as she replied. "I'm happy to take tea with you, my lord. As I told my aunt, your company is good for my standing in society."

For a moment he looked startled, and then he laughed. "I'm glad you realize my worth, my love." His leather gloved hand covered hers. It felt cold and hard. She let it rest there a moment before lifting it back to the reins.

"You'll need both hands to guide your horses through this lot." She glanced ahead to where his horses, a splendid pair of grays, trotted briskly. The road had narrowed and was congested with traffic of all kind.

He smiled. "Ah, you're so very pragmatic, my love."

The tea shop was crowded. As the waiter led them to one of the better situated tables beside a set of wide windows where outside a band played popular tunes, Emma saw Mr. Pollitt and Florence Trigwell sitting together near the vacant table where the waiter was leading them. Florence seemed to be listening intently as Mr. Pollitt expounded upon some subject.

Emma pointed them out to Desborough who hurriedly spoke in a low tone to the waiter.

The man glanced at him in surprise, and then led them across to the other side of the room to a corner table without a view and partly hidden from the rest of the dining area by large pots of fernery.

After they were seated and Desborough had given their order, Emma said. "I thought you and Florence were friends, my lord."

"She's a sensible woman but I don't care to listen to Pollitt." 

"So you'd prefer to sit at this inferior table."

"Yes."

"I'm surprised to see Florence with Mr. Pollitt."

"Why are you?"

"Surely she'd have enough of his company at Langridge House."

Desborough was scoffing. "You aren't Florence Trigwell who's been out in society for some years and until Pollitt's arrival, had no prospect of a suitable suitor."

"Why is it thought necessary for a woman to marry? I imagine Florence will inherit sufficient money from her parents for her future needs. "

"It doesn't need me to tell someone as intelligent as you that a married woman has a certain standing in society, which a spinster can never have. Consider. Florence Trigwell, after becoming Mrs. Pollitt, could make it her business to see very little of Pollitt."

"If that's your idea of marriage, I assure you it's not mine."

His smile was teasing as he caught hold of her hand across the table. "Your views are mine entirely."

She snatched her hand away and glanced nervously about her. Thank heaven; there was no one she recognized.

"Are you afraid I might compromise you?" he mocked.

"What do you think, my lord?" She wished for the umpteenth time she could read his thoughts.

She was in the midst of pouring tea when a tall, bright-faced young man accosted Desborough. The stranger's hand rested familiarly on his shoulder. "Nick! What a surprise to see you here."

Desborough rose to his feet and shook hands with the newcomer. "I thought you were still in the country, James."

"I returned yesterday," Lord James told him as he gazed at Emma with undisguised admiration.

Desborough introduced them. His expression was ironical as he watched Lord James lift Emma's hand to his lips. 

"Your servant, Miss Napier. May I sit down?" Before she could answer, he took the vacant seat between her and Desborough. "Tell me, where did Nick discover such a beauty?"

Emma was bewildered by his familiarity. She glanced at Desborough and by his expression, suspected he was enjoying Lord James mistake in thinking she was one of his paramours. She found her wits. "You're mistaken, my lord. Lord Desborough didn't find me anywhere. You speak as if I was some sort of toadstool."

Lord James was taken aback. "I beg your pardon," he stuttered. Becoming cautious, he glanced at Desborough for direction.

Desborough took pity on him. "My apologies, James. I should have explained that Miss Napier is a niece of Lady Matilda Langridge and a guest at Langridge House."

Lord James scowled at him, and turned to Emma with a contrite expression. "I beg of you, please accept my apologies. I'm well acquainted with Lady Matilda. You may have met my mother, Lady Temby. She's a great friend of Lady Matilda."

Emma agreed she had met Lady Temby at Langridge House. "Your mother is charming," she told Lord James.

"The best of mothers," he agreed. Feeling he had established his credentials, Lord James ignored Desborough's mocking expression, saying. "With your permission, may I call on you, Miss Napier."

"I'm sure my aunt will be delighted to receive you, Lord James."

"I didn't expect to see you in town until next week, James," Desborough said.

"I returned to attend Lady Mountford's ball. The party broke up because of that affair but it was dreadfully dull in the country. How people manage to live there from one month's end to another astounds me."

"You must ask Miss Napier how one does." Desborough glanced at Emma. "I understand until recently, she's spent all her life in the country."

Lord James looked confused. 

Trying not to smile, Emma said. "Please ignore Lord Desborough, Lord James. He's out to tease. I'll apologize for him as he seems unable to do so himself."

Lord James was mystified to see an expression of almost tenderness on Desborough’s face as his friend smiled at Emma.

"Will you join us for tea, Lord James?" Emma asked.

He accepted with alacrity, though he had just finished having tea with a married lady who had chosen not to leave the tearooms with him and with whom he had arranged an assignation that evening. "Are you attending Lady Mountford's ball, Miss Napier?" he asked as he accepted the tea.

She nodded. "Lady Mountford was good enough to include my friend and me in her invitation to my aunt."

"You must save me a dance."

"I will." Emma found Lord James friendly open manner appealing compared to Desborough's cynical, often mocking behavior. By the time they finished their tea, she had begun to consider him a friend. As for Lord James, he was agog with curiosity. It was unusual for Desborough to show an interest in a girl who was so available for marriage as Emma Napier apparently was.

They left the tearooms and walked towards Desborough's carriage.

Lord James lifted Emma's hand to his lips. "It was a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to our dance at Lady Mountford's ball," he said as he assisted her into the carriage. He stood back and thought he would do his best to cut Desborough out, for he doubted his friend's sincerity towards the girl. "Shall I see you at the club later, Nick?"

"Yes." Desborough jumped up beside Emma and took the reins from his groom. 

Lord James stepped back as Desborough moved the horses forward.

When they were out of earshot, Desborough remarked to Emma. "You'll soon have another admirer in James."

"Do you think so? I find him charming even though he thought I was one of your paramours."

"More fool James."

"You did nothing to correct his assumption either. You should have told him in the beginning that I was Lady Matilda's niece. It wasn't fair of you not to."

"Do you think so?"

She tried to feel outraged but the absurdity of the situation overwhelmed her. She stifled a laugh. "It embarrassed Lord James so."

"Did it?"

"You know it did." He was incorrigible. How could one guard against his charm? "You have a pair of splendid horses, my lord." 

The matched grays stepped out smartly. "This pair is as good as any you'll get."

"Do you breed horses?"

"I have some good men at Rowlands who are devoted to horseflesh."

You must be keen too, Emma thought, as she watched him handle the reins. One could tell a man who had a love of horses by the way he treated them. 

"Do you like to drive?" he asked.

"Yes, but we haven't anything like these at Lansdown. Richard isn't interested in horses."

"Has your brother set a date for his return to England?"

"In his last letter he said it would be soon but he said the same in the letter I received from him three weeks before."

"So he did." Desborough sounded irritated.

Emma could see Mr. Pollitt and Florence driving sedately ahead. Within minutes, Desborough had come abreast and passed them. Emma waved and tried not to smile at Mr. Pollitt's annoyed look. She suspected she could be assured of a lecture from him about the dangers of consorting with libertines and philanderers when next she saw him.

When they reached Langridge House, Desborough assisted Emma from the carriage and saw her to the door. "I won't come in," he said in answer to her invitation. "I promised James I'd meet him at the club. I might see you at the theater tonight," he added as an afterthought.


 

 

 


Chapter Seven

 

When Lady Matilda queried how she had enjoyed the drive, Emma said. "I met one of Lord Desborough's friends, Lord James Temby. He promised to call on you."

Lady Matilda looked pleased. "He is dear Melanie's son. He's the eldest son and heir. He'll have to marry one day."

Emma smiled. "You're determined to play the matchmaker, aunt. Where's Abby?" 

"She's showing Adrian the rose garden. They must know every bloom. You may smile; Emma, but I've great hopes there. Now tell me, how is James? When I last saw Melanie, she said he was in the country but she expected him home for Lady Mountford's ball. Dear Gwendoline Mountford is his godmother. He's such a delightful young man and belongs to an admirable family."

"So Lord James told me but that was after he'd mistaken me for one of Lord Desborough's paramours."

Lady Matilda was startled. "I don't know how can you say such things, Emma. I'm sure you've shocked us all." She turned to Abby who had come in from the rose garden with Adrian. "Don't you agree, Abby?"

Abby, looking slightly pink, said. "Probably Lord James will be another of Emma's admirers."

Lady Matilda was mollified. "I understand Desborough is opening Desborough House." 

Emma was surprised. "He didn't mention it to me."

"From what Ellie Louden says, the workmen have been there the past week. It would be marvelous to see it open again."

"I can scarcely see the sense of Lord Desborough living alone in that great place," said Emma. Florence Trigwell had pointed out Desborough House to her on one of their excursions. She had thought it a dull pile of bricks and said so to the amazement of Miss Trigwell.

Lady Matilda was scandalized. "My dear girl, Desborough House is part of the Sefton inheritance. It's absolutely full of treasures. Being closed all these years has been such a loss to society."

"The place has been shut down since the old marquis died, hasn't it?" Adrian commented.

"Officially it was closed then but in reality it was closed twenty years before when Anna Sefton died." Lady Matilda sighed. "Anna was so beautiful and charming. Her death was a loss to us all."

"I’ve heard Desborough is said to resemble his grandmother." Adrian remarked. 

"In looks, yes, but she was a much gentler spirit than her grandson. I suppose his upbringing has made him what he is. His grandfather brought him up. Desborough House would have been like a mausoleum after Anna and Desborough's parents' deaths."

"What happened to his parents?" Emma asked.

"It was a tragic time for the Seftons. Within a month of his wife's death, the old marquis son and daughter-in-law were drowned at sea when their yacht capsized in a storm. The old marquis was devastated. He was devoted to his son who was his only child - poor Anna nearly died at his birth - but it was lucky in amid all that tragedy, there was still one child in the direct line. I suppose Desborough must soon think of marriage to secure the succession." Lady Matilda looked meaningfully at Emma. When her niece didn't answer, she continued, "He's a very eligible young man for all his wildness. I find him extremely well mannered and considerate. I'm sure the rumors circulating about him aren't true." She paused. When no one answered, she asked. "What do you say Mr. Weaverham?"

"I don't know, Lady Matilda."

Wishing to change the subject, Emma said. "I saw Florence and Mr. Pollitt taking tea together in the Park Tearooms."

Lady Matilda was instantly diverted. "That friendship must surely come to something. As soon as I saw Mr. Pollitt, I thought how suitable he'd be for Florence, who because of her plainness isn't sought after, though she's an excellent young woman and would be the perfect wife and mother but as you know, gentlemen don't concern themselves with plain looking girls, however admirable they may be. Florence would make an excellent wife for Mr. Pollitt who, poor man, it must be admitted, can't expect to attract a beauty."

"I wouldn't wish Mr. Pollitt onto Florence," Emma said.

Lady Matilda was scandalized. She rose to her feet. "I'm persuaded your outing hasn't put you in the best of spirits, Emma. I insist you rest until dinner." She turned to Adrian. "You'll forgive us if we retire and leave you in Abby's capable hands, Mr. Weaverham."

Abby looked anything but happy at this piece of angling by Lady Matilda to leave her alone with Adrian.

Adrian smiled at her. "Perhaps you'd prefer I left so you can rest too, Miss Derries?"

This further embarrassed Abby who thought he might think she didn't want his company. "Oh, no, Mr. Weaverham, I'm not in the least weary. I'll be glad of your company."

After Desborough left Langridge House, he drove straight to his club to meet Lord James.

Lord James was already seated in a secluded corner of the smoking room. He had ordered a bottle of wine and after filling Desborough's glass, said. "Letitia has arrived in town." He waited for Desborough to answer but he seemed more interested in the wine than the whereabouts of Lady Letitia Stanaway.

It was well known the beautiful sparkling Lady Stanaway, the fourth daughter of the dissolute Lord Fleetwater, was Desborough's mistress. Her husband, Lord Stanaway, was one of the wealthiest men in England and was so besotted with his beautiful young wife that he turned a blind eye to her flagrant liaisons with other men.

Lord James wanted to warn Desborough that Letitia wouldn't be pleased to see him escorting Emma Napier about; whom anyone with half an eye could see was more than a casual acquaintance. Instead he said. "Letitia can cause quite a scene if she's put out. She'll go to any length to have her way." Again he waited for Desborough to speak. When he didn't, he continued. "She treated poor old Stanaway to a fine display of temper before us all. He's welcome to her. When she loses her beauty, she'll be the biggest shrew in England."

Desborough remained silent.

Lord James thought he was being deliberately obtuse. "Damn you, Nick, I'm giving you warning Letitia won't like your friendship with Emma Napier."

"You're being very long winded about it, James, but I thank you for your advice." 

"What are you going to do? You know what a bitch Letitia can be."

Desborough's expression grew hard. "I can manage Letitia."

"What about Emma Napier? She's a green one for sure."

"I see no reason why Emma and Letitia should associate with each other."

With this Lord James had to be satisfied. He asked the question that had worried him for weeks. "I suppose your marriage has been annulled by now?"

"No."

Lord James gasped. "What do you mean?"

"I thought it was obvious. It means I'm still married."

"I knew this would happen. You can't stay married to the girl."

"Why not?"

Lord James spluttered. "It's not a joking matter. What are you going to do?" 

"I'm letting matters take their course."

"Look, Nick, old fellow, if you're short of funds to pay the girl off, I can let you have it. I'm pretty flush at present and if it's not enough, I can get extra off the guvnor."

Desborough allowed him to finish before saying. "I'm touched by your offer, James, but it's not the money which prevents the annulment."

"Damn it, what is it? Don't say she won't agree to it? You can't set a milkmaid up as your marchioness, Nick."

"I don't intend to set up any milkmaid as my wife."

"You're not going to do away with her?" Lord James exclaimed in horror.

Desborough's laugh was sharp. "I hardly think I'd do that."

"Damn it! Here you are a married man and you're escorting a girl around like Emma Napier. What if she discovers it?" 

"Maybe she has."

"My God, Nick. You haven't told her?" 

"What do you think, James. Now, will you order dinner or will I?" 

Lord James knew he would get nothing more from him. He signaled to a passing waiter and without inquiring of Desborough, placed their order.

"It's fortunate I have a tolerance for fish," Desborough said as they repaired to the dining room.

Lord James ignored his sarcasm. "I ordered fish the last time we were here and you said how good it was." 

That evening as Lady Matilda finished dinner, she said. "I won't attend the theater tonight. I feel I have a bad head coming on."

Her aunt did look pale, Emma thought. She had scarcely touched her dinner. "I'll stay home with you," she offered. 

"No, no, my dear. It's nothing a good night's rest won't cure. Rose will look after me. You and Abby mustn't disappoint Adrian who was so kind to offer to escort you."

"Abby will go but I'll stay with you. You may like me to read to you."

"Aren't you meeting Desborough at the theater?" Lady Matilda protested half-heartily.

"He wasn't certain he would attend. By all accounts, I hear it's a poor play. Abby will discover if it is and if she recommends it, you and I could go another evening."

After Abby left with Adrian, Emma took a book of light reading she thought her aunt might enjoy, up to Lady Matilda's bedroom. 

Rose met her at the door with the information that Lady Matilda appeared to be asleep.

"She's feeling better?"

"I think it's mainly exhaustion which afflicts her, miss. A good night's sleep will probably be the cure."

"My aunt has been going about too much. I'll be in the library if she needs me." 

A short time later, Rose came into the library where Emma was endeavoring to read Scott's, 'Ivanhoe'. "Her ladyship has gone to sleep, miss. Should you think about going to the theater?"

Emma glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was eight-thirty. By the time she dressed and arrived at the theater, the play would be half over. "No," she decided. "It's too late. I'll stay here and read." 

After Rose left, Emma tried to continue with her novel but Scott's long drawn out tale of love and revenge failed to cure her restlessness. She shut the large tome with a bang and wandered about the room, examining the various bric-a-brac on the shelves between the rows of books. The servants were out of the main part of the house and it was quiet as a tomb. She knelt beside a bookcase and pulled out several books and glanced at them before pushing them back in their place. She began to wish she had gone to the theater but it was after nine and too late to consider it.

There was a knock at the door, the door opened and a footman ushered Gerald into the room. Emma greeted him with relief. "Gerald! You've saved my life. I'm bored to tears. Will you stay and amuse me?"

"I only called in for a moment to see how you did. I'm on my way to a masque at Cavendish House."

"I've never heard of the place."

"Neither had I until Miles put me onto it. He was coming with me but his brother who has been in Jamaica these past six months, arrived unexpectedly. His parents are having a family dinner to welcome him so I'm going on my own. Say!" Gerald’s eyes gleamed. "Why don't you come?"

"What would I wear? I don't possess a mask or domino." 

"Lady Matilda might have one you could borrow."

"I'll ask Rose."

When Rose was told about the expedition and the need for a mask, she looked troubled. "I wonder if Cavendish House is a suitable place for young ladies to attend, miss?"

"I won't stay if it's not. Would my aunt have a mask I could wear?" 

"I suppose I could find one, miss." Rose reluctantly took a lamp from a small table in the library and led Emma up three flights of stairs to the top floor and into a tiny attic room, the ceiling of which sloped to a small uncurtained dormer window overlooking the back of the house.

"Mind the dust, miss," Rose said as she placed the lamp on a side table. She opened the door of a tall cupboard, which covered one wall of the small room. The cupboard's shelves bulged with discarded clothes of all description. She took a pink silk domino, covered with diamante, from one of the shelves. "This should be suitable. Lady Matilda wore it to a masked ball several years ago."

Emma held the glossy garment against her face. It smelt of lavender. "Will Aunt Matilda mind if I borrow it?"

"I'm sure she wouldn't, miss."

They returned to Emma's bedroom. Rose hung the domino on a stand so the creases would fall out while Emma quickly slipped out of the dimity-voile day dress and into an evening gown. Rose hooked up the back of the dress and took the domino from the stand and placed it on Emma's head, draping it over her shoulders and fastening it at the back of her head.

Emma gazed into the mirror. "How mysterious I look."

Rose ignored her remark. "I suppose it's all right for you to attend that place, miss," she worried. "I wish Lady Matilda was awake so we could ask her."

"Don't worry, Rose. Mr. Myers will protect me."

With that, Rose had to be content. She followed Emma down the curved staircase to where Gerald waited impatiently. "I thought you'd never come," he said as Emma reached him. Before she could say another word to Rose, he took hold of her arm and hurried her to where he had a cab waiting.

After they had settled themselves, Gerald pulled a mask from his coat pocket and begun to smooth the creases, using his knee as an ironing board. He tied the mask across his eyes and in the half-light of the carriage, turned to Emma, asking. "How do I look?"

The mask was made to resemble a miniature devil. Small demonic horns curled above the protruding eyebrows and the center of the mask curved over the wearer's nose into flaring nostrils. Emma thought it looked too narrow. It scarcely hid his identity. She touched her own mask and felt secure that no one would know her identity.

They arrived at Cavendish House and joined the varied throng of revelers going up the wide steps. On either side of the stone balustrade, crouched huge stone gargoyles with gaping ugly mouths and bulging eyes. "What horrible looking creatures," Emma said as she brushed against the rough face of one. "I wonder at the mind that created such monstrosities."

"They're awful," Gerald agreed but he was scarcely aware of them as he glanced in anticipation towards the lighted windows from which came a steady stream of voices and music. 

When they reached the front door, he paid their entrance fee to the heavily rouged woman who sat in the alcove behind a gilt edged table. "Thank you, dearie," she said as she handed him two tickets.

Stepping inside, Gerald and Emma stood on the landing and took in the riotous crowd of revelers. "How rowdy it is," Emma remarked. 

Gerald's eyes glittered through the black slits of his mask. "We'll leave if we don't like the company." He took her arm and led her down the few steps to the main area of the ballroom.

The room was decorated in red and gold. Red drapes tied back with gold rope hung from the windows and gold lacquered chairs with red velvet seats lined the walls. Overall, in the light of the enormous chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling, it looked a splendid sight but at a closer view, Emma saw the decor was tatty. There was a rip across a velvet-covered seat of a chair near where she stood. The stuffing had spilled out and dangled in straggling lengths to the floor.

A lady in a lurid mask resembling a blackbird, and her gentleman partner, swept noisily past and joined the crowd of dancers on the dance floor. "Shall we?" Gerald asked.

Emma nodded. She thought it amazing how well a mask hid one's inhibitions and ignored any thought of what Lady Matilda might say if she could see her and Gerald jigging around the floor.

They fell panting into each other's arms when the dance ended. "I'm out of breath," Emma cried.

"So am I," Gerald agreed."I'm thirsty too. Shall we have a lemonade? There's a bar at the end of the hall." He took her arm and pushed through the ever increasing crowd.

There was a throng of boisterous jostling people around the bar where two young girls with gaudy painted faces and their hair falling in ringlets upon their bare shoulders, cheerfully served patrons with food and drink. 

As Emma waited while Gerald procured the lemonade, she was kept amused by the antics of a couple a short distance away, who were trying to drink from the same glass. Her amusement turned to disgust when some of the wine spilled into the lady's extreme décolleté and her partner thrust his hand inside the bodice of the woman's gown. Emma turned away in embarrassment as the woman squealed loudly in pretended indignation.

Gerald returned and handed her a tall glass of lemonade, decorated with a sprig of mint."I wonder what sort of people frequent these places?" Emma said as she took a sip of the tart liquid.

"All sorts, I guess. We might be rubbing shoulders with some of Lady Matilda's friends."

Emma smiled at his joke but Desborough could attend a place like this, she thought. It would be the sort of coarse entertainment, which would appeal to him. 

He might even be here tonight. The thought startled her and she was glad of the anonymity the silken domino gave her but Gerald's mask scarcely gave him the same protection. She was worried, and then thought why would anyone suspect she was his companion. 

"I heard at the bar that there are gaming salons upstairs," Gerald said.

"I hope you aren't involved in gambling?" Emma had heard whispers of large sums wagered by the nobility.

"Of course, not." Gerald’s voice was hurried. He didn't want her to know he had lost quite a few guineas at cards the previous evening. I'll make it up, he thought, thinking of the game he planned to attend tomorrow night. His luck would be sure to change.

Not far away, an aged roué was caressing a young girl whose face was painted so it resembled a garish wooden doll. Emma turned away. "I don't care for this place," she told Gerald.

"It's rather crude," he agreed. He drank the lemonade. "Let’s have one more dance before we leave."

Emma squashed the thought that it might be prudent for them to leave now. Even though the place was vulgar, she was enjoying the freedom from the restraint she felt in the circumspect drawing rooms of her aunt's acquaintances.

In the middle of the dance, the aged roué and his young partner danced in against them. Emma fell forward and caught her cheek against the sharp metal buttons decorating the lapels of Gerald's jacket. Her eyes watered with pain.

"Are you hurt, m'dear?" The aged roué clasped her by the shoulder and steadied himself against her.

"No, no," she muttered, turning her face away from his wine laden breath.

"I'm terribly sorry, m'dear." The aged roué moved his sweaty ungloved hand down her shoulder and clasped her bare arm. "Allow me to assist you to your seat." 

"No, thank you, I can manage," she said as she tried to extract herself from his pudgy fingers. 

Gerald was aware of the attention they were attracting from some of the nearby dancers. He told the aged roué in a terse voice. "Thank you, sir, but you should attend to your own partner." Without waiting for an answer, he led Emma to a nearby chair. "Are you all right?" he asked in a worried voice.

"I think so." She put a hand to her face. Her eyes still watered and her cheek throbbed. She glanced to where the aged roué stood at the edge of the dance floor with the young girl, still gazing at them. She was afraid he would follow them but his partner grasped him by the arm and whirled him dangerously in among the other dancers.

"I shouldn't have brought you here, " Gerald said. "Miles should have warned it wasn't a suitable place for ladies of quality." 

"I don't suppose he thought you'd invite me." Emma wished she could lift the domino so she could examine her hurt cheek in the small mirror she had in her reticule.

Gerald glanced around the crowded ballroom, which was becoming rowdier. "I should see about ordering a cab but I don't like to leave you here by yourself."

"Who would molest me in this crowd? It's not as if I was alone in some deserted alleyway."

"I suppose you should be safer here than waiting outside while I look for a cab," he agreed as he rose to his feet. "I'll be quick as I can."

After he left, Emma wasn't aware that a heavily built man, his florid face partly hidden by a gold Apollo mask, was scrutinizing her closely. Her interest was caught by two women who were confronting each other over the attentions of a gentleman who stood watching their fracas, his eyes gleaming through the black slits of his mask. One of the women pushed the other, who then threatened her assailant with a closed fist.

Amid this drama, the man in the Apollo mask moved purposely towards Emma and stood in front of her, blocking her view of the warring women.

Startled, she glanced up.

"You look lonely, little lady," the stranger said.

"I'm not alone." Emma's voice was sharp. "I'm waiting for my escort who has gone to hire a cab."

The stranger sat beside her. "I'll keep you company until he returns, my dear."

She edged away. "Would you please leave, sir. I didn't invite you to join me." 

"Don't be coy, little lady." He put an arm around her shoulders.

She pushed him away. "Please have the goodness to leave." She went to stand but he grabbed her arm and pulled her down beside him.

"Why so prim, little lady?"

"Let go of my arm." 

"You're not being very friendly."

Emma glanced towards the front door. There was no sign of Gerald. "My escort is due to return at any moment and will deal with you," she warned as she wondered how the slender Gerald would cope with this huge bull of a man.

"Come, my pretty. I'll make you forget about your escort." The man pulled her towards him.

She smelt the stench of wine on his breath. Pushing wildly at him, she tried to turn her face away but this only aroused him the more. Holding her hard against him, he tried to remove the domino mask. "We'll see who you are, little lady. Ah!" he said as she tried to twist away from him. "I like a lady with spirit. It makes the surrender all the more sweet."

Abby and Adrian were seated in their box at the theater when Desborough arrived. After their greeting, he asked. "Where's Emma?"

"Lady Matilda wasn't well so Emma stayed home with her," Abby explained.

"I hope it's nothing serious?"

"I think she's been going about too much and having too many visitors."

"Will you join us, Desborough?" Adrian asked.

"I thank you for your invitation, but no. How is the play?"

Abby made a wry face as Adrian said. "I don't think it will last. It has a weak story line and is badly acted." 

"It seems I won't miss anything by not staying." Desborough remained chatting a few more minutes until the curtain rose for the second act before saying goodnight. He hurried down the carpeted stairs to the foyer and told the doorman to order his carriage. He waited impatiently for it to arrive. When it did, he directed the driver to proceed to Langridge House.

When he asked to see Emma, Lady Matilda's butler explained with his usual superciliousness. "Miss Emma has left with Mr. Gerald Myers."

His loftiness was punctured by the sudden anger on his lordship's face. He looked shocked when his lordship demanded in a furious tone. "Where the hell have they gone?"

"I believe they attend Cavendish House, my lord," the butler stammered.

"Cavendish House!" Desborough echoed in disbelief.

"Yes, my lord." The butler regretted having to be the one to apprise his lordship of Miss Napier's destination. He continued in a not so certain tone. "Rose, Lady Matilda's maid, will be able to advise you further, my lord. Will you step into the drawing room to wait, my lord? I'll be gone some minutes, as I believe Rose has retired for the night."

"I'll wait in the hall," Desborough said, impatient with the butler's verbosity.

It was ten minutes before the butler returned with Rose. She had dressed in haste and looked less than her competent self when she came into the hall to face Desborough. The butler had warned his lordship was in a furious temper.

At her arrival, Desborough stopped his pacing. Rose was surprised when he apologized. "I'm sorry to have caused you to get out of bed, Rose. Is it correct that Miss Napier has gone to Cavendish House with Gerald Myers?"

Rose looked flustered. "Yes, my lord. Miss Emma and Mr. Myers left to attend a masque there."

His mouth tightened. "Does Lady Matilda know of it?"

"No, my lord. Lady Matilda had retired before Mr. Myers arrived."

"I see. How was Miss Napier dressed?"

"She's wearing a pink domino, which belonged to Lady Matilda." At Desborough's request, she nervously described the rest of Emma's attire. 

"Thank you, Rose," Desborough said courteously after she had finished. 

After he left, Rose said to the butler. "I think his lordship has intentions of going to Cavendish House. I hope he's tolerant with Miss Emma," she worried. "He's such a determined young man."

"It's not our concern, Rose."

"Maybe not, Albert, but I'm anxious about Miss Emma. She's a sweet girl but she isn't very knowledgeable about the conventions of London society."

"She has more sense than that whelp of a Gerald Myers but don't disturb yourself, Rose. His lordship has no authority over Miss Emma. He'll probably say Cavendish House isn't a proper place for young ladies and will suggest she return home."

"I hope so." But Rose wasn't convinced. "I knew in my bones, Miss Emma shouldn't attend such a place."

The butler took her arm. " Come, Rose. I'll make you a hot toddy. It will help settle your nerves."


 

 

 

 

Chapter Eight

 

Desborough reached Cavendish House and told his driver to wait near the entrance. He was standing at the edge of the dance floor, scrutinizing the dancers when a tall slender woman who wore a mask portraying the Queen of Night accosted him.

"Nicky! This is unexpected, my love." Letitia Stanaway's beautiful mouth curved in a smile as she held out her hand.

Desborough automatically lifted it to his lips before returning to study the dancers.

Letitia continued in a pleased tone. "How did you discover I was here? You have been so naughty not coming to see me or answering my notes."

Desborough stared ironically at her. "I thought you were busy with your latest conquest."

"The Prince! He is nothing, my dear." She slipped an arm through his. "I've missed you, Nicky. It's been boring without your company. The party was so flat after you left. You went in such haste, saying you had to dash off to get married. I didn't believe a word of it. Tell me, what was she like?" When he didn't answer, she moved closer to him and pressed her body against his. "Come home with me, my love," she whispered, her eyes gleaming behind the slits in the mask.

His glance was sarcastic. "What about Stanaway?"

"You haven't concerned yourself before with him."

"I haven't cuckolded him in his own house while he was resident there either."

"Do you think I should I be faithful to a husband, who bought me when I was sixteen?" 

"I don't blame you, my dear." Desborough was sympathetic. "We're both dishonorable people."

She was nettled. "What am I supposed to say to that?" When he didn't answer, she continued. "I don't understand you, Nicky. If you're so faint-hearted, we'll go to your lodgings but I can assure you, Arnold won't know a thing about it. He's here tonight, foxed as usual, with Humphrey Balshaw. Neither of them will miss me." She laughed. "Especially Humphrey. See him over there, trying to seduce the pink domino. By the look of it, she's not giving in easily."

Desborough glanced to where Letitia directed. "What the hell!" he muttered. He pulled away from her grasp and strode to where Emma and Sir Humphrey struggled together.

Emma went reeling backwards as her assailant was wrenched from her.

Sir Humphrey grabbed a chair to steady himself. He glared at Desborough. "How dare you," he began.

"Get on your way, Balshaw; else I'll knock you down."

Sir Humphrey looked as if he was about to spring upon his lordship but at Desborough's ferocious expression, thought better of it. He glanced to where Emma leant on a chair for support. "You're welcome to the little floozy." He straightened his coat and adjusted the gold mask, which had slipped sideways on his florid face. "You'll hear from me about this," he continued in a threatening tone.

Desborough ignored him and turned to Emma. "Are you all right?" he asked, his expression grim.

"Yes," she managed to reply as she tried to stop the quivering, which had taken hold of her. "I thank you for rescuing me from that unpleasant creature." 

Desborough pulled her to him, his fingers tightening on her arm, as he demanded. "What the hell do you mean by coming here?" 

She was shocked by his rage. "People are staring at us," she whispered as she tried not to cry.

Her words brought him to the realization of their surroundings. "We'll have this discussion later." He thrust her roughly before him.

She resisted. "I must wait for Gerald. He's gone to hire a cab. We were about to leave when you arrived."

"I'll have something to say to that young cub."

Emma recoiled at his fury. When she saw Gerald pushing his way towards them, she said in a hurry. "There he is now." Her voice was frantic as Desborough's lips tightened in an ominous line. "I beg you, my lord, don't cause a scene."

Gerald was alarmed at the sight of his lordship. He tried to ignore him as he said to Emma. "I've found a cab."


"You can take it yourself." Desborough's voice was cold. "I'll escort Emma home." 

Gerald began to protest but Emma forestalled him. "I'll go with Lord Desborough, Gerald." Before he could protest further, she continued, "I'll see you tomorrow and explain as I feel too unwell tonight."

Gerald stood bewildered as Emma and Desborough left the dance hall. He castigated himself that he should have been more decisive. What right had Desborough to whisk her off like a wronged husband? The thought shocked him. Before he could think further, a tall fair-haired woman, wearing a dark blue mask decorated with silver stars and a crescent moon, brushed against him. "I'm sorry," she said in a tinkling voice as Gerald turned to apologize.

"No, no, it was my fault." Gerald was overcome by the woman who he knew was beautiful behind the silver stars and moon of a mask.

The woman smiled. "You look lonely. Are you by yourself?"

"No, yes," he stuttered.

She placed a slender creamy arm through his. "I'm alone too. Why don't we have this dance?"

As if in a dream, he took the floor with her. He wondered who she was. Some paphian who frequented these affairs, he thought, as he gazed into the clear blue eyes looking tantalizingly at him through the night blue mask.

When the dance ended, his new companion asked. "Shall you buy me a glass of wine, my dear?"

He agreed with alacrity. Emma and the forthcoming confrontation with Desborough slipped from his mind as he and the stars and moon lady as he thought of her now, sat together in a small alcove at the edge of the dance floor.

She filled his glass with wine for the third time. "Who was the pink domino with Desborough?"

He was startled by her question.

She continued with a tight smile. "I feel I should know her. Is she a friend of yours?"

"No, no," he lied. He still had enough of his wits about him not to compromise Emma's reputation for all his fascination with this beautiful creature. "I'd just met her." He stifled a yawn as the wine and the warmth of the room began to have its effect on him. 

The stars and moon lady lifted the glass to her lips. 

He watched in a daze, thinking if he remained much longer, he would fall asleep. Trying to stifle another yawn, he had to hold hard onto the table so not to topple off the chair but there was enough sense in his befuddled mind to know he must leave. Standing and trying to keep his balance, he said. "With your permission, I must take my leave of you. I have a carriage waiting." He hiccuped. "I beg your pardon," he excused, embarrassed to his marrow.

The woman smiled in amusement.

"Will you meet me here another evening?" he mumbled.

"It would be a pleasure, my dear."

He backed away from the table and bowed with difficulty.

Out among the crowd of revelers, he succeeded in defining the direction to the front door and stumbled towards it and down the stone steps, oblivious to the grinning gargoyles marking his progress. He managed to discover his waiting cab and give directions to the driver. The motion of the carriage sent him immediately to sleep. It seemed the driver was shaking his shoulder and promptly awakening him again. "What's the matter?" he mumbled.

"You have arrived at your destination, sir."

Gerald stumbled from the carriage. He paid the driver twice as much as he asked and lurched into Mrs. Hunt's rented residence by a side door. He safely negotiated the stairs and dropped exhaustive, fully clothed, onto the bed.

Still gripping Emma's arm, Desborough gave the order to his driver to return to Langridge House. He thrust Emma into the carriage and climbed in after her, slamming the door shut as he said."Take off that damned domino."

Though annoyed by his high handedness, she undid the hooks at the back of the garment and lifted it over her head and placed it beside her on the carriage seat. 

"Now, madam, you will tell me why you attended a hellhole like Cavendish House?"

She was affronted by his rage and it took all her control to keep her temper. "How was Gerald and I to know what sort of place it was? As soon as we arrived, we realized its true nature. We were about to leave when you came."

"My understanding is you left Langridge House over two hours ago. Time enough for you to have come and gone several times." His voice was cold.

She was thinking how to answer without enraging him further when he leant forward, his face close to her, as he demanded. "What is young Myers to you?" 

She was startled by his question. "He's a friend. Surely you don't think." She stopped and wanted to tell him it was none of his business what her relationship with Gerald was but she knew it would only further infuriate him.

"Perhaps I don't think that. In future, you will not go anywhere unless Lady Matilda or I give you permission."

Emma was furious. How dare he speak to her like that but she knew she must be careful because of Gerald. He might challenge poor Gerald to a duel. Did men fight duels these days? They didn't in Little Gosford but who knew what they did in London. She said with as much composure as she could muster. "I must thank you again for saving me from the attentions of that unpleasant character but I must also inform you it's no concern of yours where I go."

"Understand me." Desborough’s voice was menacing. "You are my wife and will do as I say. If you don't behave with the discretion that is expected of the Marchioness of Desborough, I'll use my authority as a husband and take you to Rowlands. There you will remain until I give you permission to return to London." 

She threw away her hard kept caution. "You are insufferable. I'll do what I want. There's no way you will stop me. You have no authority over me. You don't think I would take notice of that farcical to do at The Three Feathers, do you? When I think of your excesses." She stopped. He had taken her by the shoulders.

"My excesses have nothing to do with it. If you don't obey me, you will see what I'll do." His breath was sweet and warm against her face. Before she knew it, he had drawn her to him and kissed her fiercely.

She struggled to free herself but he caught her hands and held them behind her back. His face was dark and cruel in the shadowy light of the carriage lanterns. "I'll show you who is your lord and master." His mouth was warm and demanding against her throat as he pulled her dress from her shoulders and kissed her bare breast.

She gave a scream of terror. He let her go. She pushed him from her with as much force as her trembling hands would allow.

He moved away to sit in the corner of the carriage.

She straightened her dress over her breasts and didn’t dare look at him. In a few minutes to her relief, the carriage drew to a halt outside Langridge House. Now there was only the embarrassment of taking leave of him.

Desborough waited until the groom opened the door, and then stepped from the carriage and held out his hand to help her alight.

Because of the waiting groom, Emma was forced to accept his assistance. As she stepped into the street, another carriage drew up behind them. To her dismay, Adrian and Abby emerged from it.

Abby looked surprised. "I didn't know you planned to go out, Emma." 

Avoiding looking at Desborough, she explained. "Gerald called in after you left and persuaded me to attend a ... a..."

"Card evening," Desborough murmured. 

Emma flushed.

"Where is Gerald?" Abby glanced at the open doorway of the carriage as if she expected to see him emerge.

"He.... he...."

"We dropped him off at Mrs. Hunt's." Desborough interrupted.

The two young men escorted Emma and Abby to the front door of Langridge House, which was opened by a sleepy footman. Emma turned to Desborough and without looking at him, said. "Thank you for escorting me home, my lord."

"The pleasure was all mine," he said, his voice pleasant.

As she and Emma went up the stairs to their bedrooms, Abby chatted about the play. She was filled with happiness and didn't notice how quiet and subdued Emma was.

Emma knew she had to leave London and return to Little Gosford. She would be safe there. Desborough wouldn't travel to Lansdown to harass her, or seduce her, said an unwanted thought. A spasm of desire burnt through her. She had wanted him. It had taken all her will not to return his passion. Never had she thought, would a man hold such a physical attraction for her but I will get over it, she vowed in the early hours of dawn before she slept. I will get over it.

Sir Humphrey Balshaw mopped his damp brow. Although he had slept until midday, his head was still thick from last night's excesses. He glanced at Letitia Stanaway. Though she had not gone to bed before four that morning, she looked like a new rose or nearly a new rose, he amended as he noticed the faint lines that had lately appeared between nose and mouth on her beautiful face. "Stanaway not up yet?" he asked.

"He can stay there forever for all I care. His valet doubts whether he'll surface today."

"Spoken like a loving wife." Sir Humphrey poured a glass of wine from a decanter set on a side table. "If Stanaway doesn't stop drinking, he won't last long." 

"How long does one wish to live?" Letitia's voice was sweet. "Dear Arnold is seventy-six and has more aches and pains and complaints than one thinks possible for a being to have."

"So you think it's time he got his notice to quit?" Sir Humphrey was sarcastic.

Letitia shrugged. These past months had seen a change in her husband's health. The doctor who attended Lord Stanaway, had warned his excessive drinking must stop else he wouldn't be responsible for the outcome but instead of heeding the doctor's warning, she actually encouraged Arnold Stanaway in his excesses. She hated him. Hated his fat aged body and the thick pudgy fingers always seeking to touch her. She hated him for having bought her and ravished her when she was sixteen. Now she made him beg for her favors and the few she allowed him were scarcely those of a dutiful wife.

"Who was that young sprig you were entertaining last night?" Sir Humphrey asked.

Letitia's smile was malicious. "He's a friend of the girl you were interested in, Humphrey."

Her tinkling laugh grated on Sir Humphrey's nerves. "Damn, Desborough. He'll go too far one day. Anyone would think I was about to rape the girl."

"Weren't you?" Letitia's voice was sugary.

Sir Humphrey gave her a sour look. "More likely that will be Desborough's role. You'd do better to concentrate on yours truly. Even if I do stray occasionally, I'll always return, which is more than you can say about his lordship."

Letitia's eyes were like blue chips. "When I'm a widow and a very rich one at that, why should I waste myself on you, my sweet?"

"Because we're of a kind, my dear."

"It's strange you should say that. Nicky said the same about him and me last night. Does it mean we three are alike?" She turned away without waiting for Sir Humphrey to answer. "There are times when I don't understand Nicky. No, I don't understand him at all."

Suddenly solicitous, Sir Humphrey drew her into his arms and kissed her. "Forget him, my love. You'll only come up against heartbreak if you don't." 

She twisted out of his arms. "I don't let go easily of that which belongs to me."

Emma examined her face in the mirror. She touched the dark mark on her cheek and shivered as she remembered the man's leering eyes glistening through the Apollo mask. She should feel grateful to Desborough for arriving in time to prevent the domino from being ripped from her face. She would have been ruined if her escapade had become known. No wonder Desborough was furious but it didn't excuse him for what had happened afterwards in the carriage. She rested her head against the dressing table. She couldn't face him. If only she could leave London and return to Lansdown but it was impossible to do so. She had no reason to leave and her brother was due in London any day. Somehow she had to terminate that marriage and overcome her fascination with his lordship.

Gerald paused outside Langridge House. He calculated if he arrived early, he would more likely catch Emma alone. He wanted to avoid Lady Matilda. She was sure to complain about him inviting Emma to Cavendish House. He hoped she didn't know about it and the less he thought about a confrontation with Desborough, the better for his nerves. He went up the steps and rapped on the door. 

Lady Matilda's butler opened the door. 

Gerald inquired if Emma was at home.

"I believe Miss Napier is in the morning room, sir."

Gerald flushed as he caught the note of censure in the butler's tone.

When Emma greeted him, he was relieved to see she looked her usual self except for a bruise on one cheek. When he commented on it, Emma said. "My face is a little tender."

"It does look sore." Gerald examined the dark mark high on her cheekbone. "You're lucky not to have a black eye." 

"Did you stay long after I left?" 

"Oh, just a little while. The cab was late in arriving," he prevaricated, not wanting to tell her about the tantalizing half-hour he had spent with his unknown companion. He kicked himself that he hadn't thought to discover her name and was determined to return to Cavendish House as soon as possible to rectify the mistake. "Does Lady Matilda know where we went last night?"

"No, and I see no reason to tell her or Abby."

Gerald was relieved. He wondered if that sour puss of a butler could be relied upon to keep his mouth shut.

Emma continued, "Abby and Adrian Weaverham arrived at Langridge House the same time as Desborough and I." She stumbled over Desborough's name and tried to compose herself. "I had to tell Abby or rather lie to her that I had attended a card evening with you. I hope she doesn't think to ask the name of the particular friends we were supposed to have visited."

"I'm sorry. It's my fault for inviting you to such a place."

"You should have discovered what it was like before you invited me." She described how she had been molested at Cavendish House.

"I knew I shouldn't have left you." Gerald was furious with himself and angry Desborough had been the one to rescue Emma.


"I know not to go there again. I don't know what would have happened if Desborough hadn’t arrived."

She blamed him, Gerald knew. He thought she was too much on her high horse. He wanted to remind her that she had enjoyed the time they spent at Cavendish House as much as he did. "I don't know why Desborough acted so highhandedly." At Emma's silence, he continued. "It amazes me he should take such a self-righteous attitude with the reputation he has." 

"What do you mean?"

Gerald pursed his lips.

Emma thought he looked nearly as pompous as Mr. Pollitt. "You might as well tell me. I've heard rumors about his lordship myself."

Gerald looked startled. "Who told you?"

"I've had hints from several sources." Emma thought of the conversation she had overheard between the two dowagers.

"I suppose you should know if only for your own protection. There's no one to tell you except me. Lady Matilda can't know else surely she wouldn't welcome his lordship so freely to her house." He stopped speaking. Now it had come to it, he was reluctant to continue.

"You were going to say," Emma prompted.

He could see she was determined to know, so ignoring any thoughts of being prudent, he said, "Desborough has a mistress."

It was a shock for Emma to have her suspicions confirmed. "I'm not surprised," she managed to say.

"I thought you knew."

"I do." With an effort, she kept her composure. "The wonder is he has only one. I wouldn't be surprised to hear he had a whole stable of them. Who is she?"

"Lady Letitia Stanaway, Sir Arnold Stanaway's wife, and that isn't all. They're laying bets in the clubs as to whether Desborough will marry you."

"How dare they?" Emma was stunned. "Does Desborough know?"

"Of course, he does." Gerald was impatient with her naiveté. "They try to get information from him. I've heard them myself."

Emma was enraged and humiliated but before she could speak, they were interrupted by the arrival of Lady Matilda who was accompanied by Desborough and Florence Trigwell.

With the subject of their discussion arriving in the midst of it, Emma and Gerald flushed with embarrassment and could only mumble in answer to their greetings.

Lady Matilda was suspicious. She hoped Gerald had overcome his adolescent infatuation for Emma but her fears were revised in discovering the two of them together in a confidential huddle. She glanced at Desborough and hoped he hadn't noticed their confusion. She was relieved to see his expression hadn't changed. She said in a disapproving tone. "I didn't know you were here, Gerald."

"I only called in for a moment," he muttered. He had to repeat himself when Lady Matilda begged his pardon and said she hadn't heard him.

Lady Matilda remarked to Desborough. "I wish young people would enunciate their words clearly." Her voice was loud enough for all in the room to hear.

Apprehensive of what Desborough might say to him about last night, Gerald inveigled himself in Emma and Florence's company and pretended an interest in their affairs while Desborough and Lady Matilda conversed together.

Florence had previously arranged for Emma to draw a design on a piece of tapestry."Perhaps we should arrange it for another day as you have guests to entertain, Emma."

"No, no, I'll do it now. I have everything ready." Emma thought she could make the work last an hour at least. By that time, his lordship would surely have left for he rarely stayed long at Langridge house.

"Social prattle doesn't amuse me," he had once told her.

Wishing Gerald didn't look like a terrified rabbit, Emma continued to Florence. "I have several drawings ready for you to choose from. It will only take a moment to trace one onto the tapestry."

Watching as Emma and Florence spread the piece of tapestry on the table, Gerald wondered how soon he could make his departure. It was impossible for him to take his leave of Lady Matilda while she was in conversation with Desborough.

He wished he hadn't told Emma of Desborough's affairs. If she were to tell his lordship, he, Gerald, would be sunk. Desborough would probably call him out. He had a frightening vision of his hurt and bloodied body being conveyed to Little Gosford. These grim thoughts were dispelled by the arrival of Mr. Pollitt. Gerald welcomed his uncle with relief. With others joining the small group, there might be a chance for him to take his leave of Lady Matilda.

After greeting the company, Mr. Pollitt said to Florence. "I called at your house and was told you had proceeded here."

"I'm sorry I wasn't home to welcome you, Mr. Pollitt."

"What are you about?" He came to stand beside Florence and Emma, listening intently while Florence explained she intended to replace the worn seat cover of a Queen Anne chair, which had belonged to her grandmother. 

Mr. Pollitt then put forward his views of how the design should be set upon the tapestry.

Gerald felt satisfied knowing the two women were ignoring his uncle's suggestions. He sat on a chair, far enough away from Desborough to be safe and entertained himself by looking out of the window to see if he recognized any of the passersby.

Adrian Weaverham's carriage drew to a halt outside. Gerald watched while Adrian handed the reins to his groom and went briskly up the steps of Langridge House.

Mr. Pollitt remarked. "These drawings are a more ladylike occupation than oil painting, Miss Napier." Before Emma could answer, he raised his voice and called across the room to Lady Matilda. "Have you seen the painting Miss Napier did of a gypsy?"

Lady Matilda was startled by his sudden interruption.

"The gypsy looks like Lord Desborough." he continued. He was satisfied he had managed to link his lordship with a disreputable character such as a gypsy.

Emma flushed. "I don't think it looks so much like Lord Desborough. Perhaps there is a slight resemblance but nothing to make a fuss about. I painted my model from a likeness in one of the journals." 

Desborough looked amused at Emma's embarrassment. "When I visit Little Gosford, you must show me this interesting painting so I can decide for myself."

"You'd find Little Gosford far too uninteresting, my lord."

He smiled. "You must allow me to decide." 

Emma finished marking out the roses and even Mr. Pollitt had to agree they would make a pretty picture when Florence had worked them with her silks.

"Florence has such a good eye for color," Lady Matilda said. "I must ask you, my dear, to suggest some new drapes for these windows. I'm bored with the ones already there and am resolved to banish them to one of the upper rooms."

"I saw some lace in the shops last week, which should suit your morning room very prettily," Florence said. "If the lace is lined with silk, the curtains will give privacy from the street. With your permission, I'll ask the store to send you some samples."

"Thank you, Florence. She is such a treasure, don't you agree, Mr. Pollitt?"

He looked embarrassed that Lady Matilda had singled him out, and to cover it, he said to Florence. "I thought I might replace my drawing room curtains and would beg to ask your advice too, Miss Trigwell." 

Florence's plain face brightened. "I would be only be too happy to assist you to the best of my ability, Mr. Pollitt."

"Perhaps I should have the whole of the drawing room refurbished while I'm about it. I remember my mother saying the room was exactly the same as it is now when she came as a bride. She wasn't interested in home decoration. Cooking was her great interest. She was keen on preserving - we have a large orchard - and after she died, we discovered a great store of preserves, far more than the servants or I could use. I told them to distribute the produce among the village folk. I wish you could see my house, Miss Trigwell. It isn't huge but is still quite a substantial country dwelling. Perhaps I could arrange for my sister to stay and you and your parents could come to visit."

"I would be happy to accept but my parents aren't great travelers as is Lady Matilda, who is apt to pack her bags at a moment's notice. My parents only go to Bath once a year to take the waters. The journey is a big undertaking for them as you might suppose."

"My property is only a few miles off the Bath road so it wouldn't be too far out of the way."

"I'll ask them to consider it. Now tell me, what color scheme do you have in your drawing room?"

"The overall color seems to be brown. The drapes are brown velvet and the windows are narrow and don't allow much light to enter the room as Miss Napier will attest. She and Miss Derries came on a visit with my sister, Mrs. Myers. The weather was so dull and overcast; we had to have the lamps lit most of the day."

"Perhaps some light flowered chintz would suit your drawing room. I have in mind some I saw recently. Fleurs de Mal it's called. It has pretty reddish tan flowers on a cream background, which should be perfect and will give a feeling of lightness to your room."

The conversation was interrupted when Abby, accompanied by Adrian Weaverham, came into the room. Lady Matilda asked. "Did you complete the flower arranging, my dear?"

"Yes, Lady Matilda. Mr. Weaverham arrived as I finished. He was interested in your vases."

Gerald was suspicious. By his reckoning, Adrian had been half-an-hour in the house before making his appearance. He should know. He had waited impatiently, hoping Adrian's arrival would free Lady Matilda from Desborough's company so he, Gerald, could make his escape.

Lady Matilda thought how pretty Abby looked in the pink dimity voile with white lace edging the three quarter length sleeves and low cut neckline. Adrian must surely ask her to marry him. It would be nice to have one marriage out of the very entertaining season she'd had. Her hope of Emma's nuptials was blighted when her friend, Melanie Temby, told her of Letitia Stanaway's return to town. "Desborough will never marry Letitia Stanaway," Melanie Temby had comforted Lady Matilda when that lady had confided her hope of Emma's marriage to the elusive marquis. "But he does need a wife. I suspect it's why he's opening Desborough House. For all his wildness, he knows his duty to his name."

Emma will have to tolerate Desborough's infidelities, Lady Matilda thought. After all, she would be a marchioness and her children heirs to a name and fortune but she wondered if that would satisfy her niece. Wealth and position didn't seem to amount very highly with Emma.

Adrian greeted Lady Matilda. Soon afterwards, Gerald seized his opportunity to take his leave of her. With a sigh of relief, he ran down the stone steps. If he could avoid Desborough for the next week or two, he might be safe from any confrontation with his lordship.



 

 

 

 


Chapter Nine

 

Lady Matilda suggested to Emma and Abby they might like to order a cold collation for lunch. "For I'm famished as everyone else must be."

While Lady Matilda's guests joined her in the dining room, Emma stayed behind to gather her crayons together. She was dismayed to see Desborough had remained too."I haven't been able to ask how you are," he said. 

"I'm all right." Without looking at him, she placed the last crayon in the case and closed it.

He gazed intently at her. "You have a bruise on your cheek."

"Is it so noticeable?" She turned to look in the mirror over the fireplace.

"How did it happen?" 

Without thinking, she said. "I was pushed while dancing last night and caught my cheek against the buttons on Gerald's lapel." She expected him to remonstrate again at her folly at attending Cavendish House but as he watched her in the mirror, his mouth curved in a smile. He behaved as if the incident in the carriage hadn't happened and appeared determined to be on good terms with her. 

She turned resolutely to face him. "I want our marriage annulled immediately."

He seemed surprised by her abruptness and was silent a moment as if making up his mind about something, then taking her hands in his and holding them firmly when she might have withdrawn them, said. "I'm sorry it's distressful for you but I will set the matters to rights as soon as possible. Come, let us eat of this feast Lady Matilda, or rather you and Abby have arranged."

Later, she realized he hadn't given a definite date when the annulment would be finalized. She worried he didn't want to admit he was having difficulty procuring it. At The Three Feathers, he was so sure he could have the marriage annulled. If it didn't concern her, she would say it served him right. She should tell him she knew about Lady Stanaway and the bets at the clubs. That would dent that confident armor of his but she couldn't because of Gerald. He would realize it was Gerald who had told her. When Richard arrived in London, he would see the marriage was annulled. The thought made her feel better.

Lady Matilda remarked to Desborough across the dining table. "I hear you're opening Desborough House?"

"Yes, Lady Matilda. You must visit me when it’s finished."

"I will. I have fond memories of it when your grandmother was alive. Ah, the balls your grandparents gave. Those were the days. Such grace. It was so different to these modern times."

"I thought you were a modern woman, Lady Matilda."

"One mustn't linger in the past, of course. Your grandmother was so charming and beautiful."

"So I believe, though I never knew her myself."

"Your grandfather suffered a great tragedy. No wonder he became a recluse." 

"That was how I knew him. He didn't entertain after my grandmother and parents deaths, except to occasionally invite a few of his old friends in to dine."

"You must have had a dull boyhood, Lord Desborough?" Florence remarked. 

"You might say that. I was brought up by the servants and sent away to school at an early age. My grandfather's retirement from society is part of the problem of opening Desborough House now. Most of the place has been shut up over twenty years. It's practically the same at Rowlands, though some of Rowlands is open during the hunting season."

"It seems as if your residences need a mistress," Lady Matilda said.

"It does, doesn't it?" Desborough agreed blandly.

Lady Matilda continued. "I've had such an enjoyable season. It scarce seems three months since Emma and Abby arrived."

"You've been so good to introduce us into society, Lady Matilda," Abby said. "It's been so agreeable attending the theater and balls and visiting the museums and art galleries."

"My dear Abby, it's I who should be thanking you. The season would have been so dull without your company. I dread the thought, though I know I should be pleased, that some presentable man will whisk you off into marriage." She turned to Adrian. "What do you think, Mr. Weaverham?"

Ignoring Abby's embarrassment, he said. "I'm sure that will happen, Lady Matilda, and when it does; you'll be the first to join in the celebrations."

Florence and Desborough stood at the tea table, conversing without bothering to refill their teacups. Florence was positively glowing. The attentions of an attractive man did that for a woman, Emma thought, as she watched them. She wondered how she appeared when she was in Desborough's company.

Mr. Pollitt, who sat next to Emma, muttered. "I hope Desborough isn't making a set towards Miss Trigwell. She's not the woman to be attracted to the likes of him."

Emma glanced at him in surprise. He reminded her of a bantam rooster preparing to defend his hens from a much larger male.

Mr. Pollitt could stand it no longer and rose abruptly to his feet. "Excuse me, Miss Napier. I must see if Miss Trigwell has time to accompany me to inspect a sofa I'm interested in purchasing." He strode purposely towards Desborough and Florence. Reaching them, he spoke directly to Florence."Are you ready to leave, Miss Trigwell? I'd like your advice on a sofa, which might be suitable for my drawing room."

Florence looked surprised at his abrupt demand but all she said, was. "Of course, Mr. Pollitt." She turned to Desborough. "If you'll excuse me, my lord."

Desborough bowed, taking her hand in his and kissing it lightly, saying with a hint of mockery. "We must continue our interesting conversation another time, Miss Trigwell."

Florence agreed, and thought how charming and attractive he was. She compared him to the stocky Mr. Pollitt who waited impatiently beside her. She sighed. One must make the best of what one had and not strive for impossible dreams. She had no doubt Mr. Pollitt would make a tolerable and manageable husband, which for all his charm, one could not say about his lordship.

After Mr. Pollitt and Florence had left, Desborough moved towards Emma. "I seem to have upset Pollitt," he said as he reached her.

For a moment, she forgot her antagonism towards him. "I'm amazed at Mr. Pollitt. One could almost say he was jealous."

"I thought it time to bring his attention to what a treasure he might have in Florence Trigwell."

"Florence is indeed a dear, but marriage to Mr. Pollitt!" 

"Surely it isn't such a terrible fate. Within a year, Florence will have Pollitt so he doesn't dare make a move without her approval."

"So my sympathies are to be with Mr. Pollitt?" 

He laughed. "Perhaps, but consider? What would be wrong with that union? Florence will have gained what she wants, which is a husband who won't squander her inheritance and Pollitt, will have a very capable wife. Only he isn't aware of it yet. I think, my love, he still considers himself in love with you."

Emma flushed but was composed as she said. "You seem very interested in affairs of the heart, my lord."

He smiled. "What have you been doing?"

"Nothing much. Actually I was wondering if Miss King will have my new gown ready for the ball tomorrow night."

"Is it a special gown?"

She fell silent. The conversation had become too personal. They might really be husband and wife.

"Shall you mark my name against all the waltzes?" he asked.

"What about the others who are desirous of waltzing with me now you have taught me so competently?"

"Because of that, surely I must have some preference over your many beaus?" His smile was mocking.

"There aren’t so many since you're fast eliminating them. Mr. Pollitt, for example."

"And Sir Walter Fryer-Smith! What about Sir Walter?"

Emma wondered what thoughts lay hidden behind his expression. "Even Sir Walter, my lord, is not such a constant visitor to Langridge House as he once was."

"Do you miss him?"

"Of course. Sir Walter is a very entertaining man."

"Aren't I that?"

"You are but one likes to have other strings to one's bow."

He laughed as he rose to take his leave of her. "Don't forget my waltzes."

"Perhaps this time I'll allow you to have them, seeing you were the one who had to suffer the trodden toes."

"It seems I must be thankful for small mercies."

The pale lemon gauze gown, which Miss King had produced for Lady Mountford's ball was the most glamorous Emma had owned. She examined herself in the full-length mirror and thought she had never looked more beautiful but the gown was spoilt by the neckline being was cut too low. She tugged at the top of it and tried to pull it higher over her breasts.

Dissatisfied, she went into Lady Matilda's apartment where her aunt sat in front of the dressing table while Rose dressed her hair. "You look splendid, Aunt Matilda," said Emma; complimenting her on the magnificent gown of wine silk she wore.

"Thank you, my dear. And you look absolutely beautiful in that dress. You’ll be the belle of the ball."

When Rose left the room, Emma took the opportunity to ask Lady Matilda. "Do you think the neckline of my dress is too low?"

Lady Matilda glanced up from adjusting the feathered headdress more comfortably on her head. "Perhaps it's a trifle low," she agreed. "But there will be far more revealing gowns there than the one you're wearing, my dear."

Emma peered doubtfully over her aunt's shoulder into the mirror. "I'm not keen to show off my charms to ogling pop-eyed debauchees who think they're the answer to every debutante's dream." 

Lady Matilda laughed as she gathered her evening things together. "You'll have enough young swains around you not to worry about the aged roués, my dear."

Returning to her bedroom, Emma found Abby waiting. Abby agreed the neckline of Emma's gown was perhaps a little low but if Lady Matilda said it was all right, then it must be. 

"I haven't time to change." Emma looked in the mirror and gave the neckline of her gown a last tug. "Aunt Matilda has already gone down. Adrian and General Pennington have arrived."

The two men were to escort them to the ball. Abby entered the drawing room and blushed like a radiant rose as Adrian came forward to kiss her hand.

A pang went through Emma as she watched. She hoped Adrian wasn't dallying with Abby. Abby was more vulnerable than her. Emma liked to think she was made in a tougher mold than the gentle Abby but she had her own dilemma. However much she tried to ignore it, she found herself looking forward to her daily contact with Desborough.

She couldn't see him in the crowded ballroom when she arrived. As she scanned the room to make sure she hadn't missed him, her attention was caught by the arrival of a strikingly beautiful young woman whose cream almost transparent gown clung to every curve of her tall slender body. The neckline of her gown was cut so low, the beautiful white breasts seemed almost to spill from it. Emma scarcely noticed the aged coarse looking man who escorted the newcomer as she whispered to Lady Matilda."Who is that divine creature?"

"Lady Stanaway and her husband, Lord Stanaway." Lady Matilda's tone was repugnant.

Emma was stunned. She hadn't expected Desborough's mistress to be so beautiful. As she watched Lady Stanaway make her way through the crowd and saw the envious disapproving looks of the women in contrast to the men who were vying for Letitia's attention, she thought how could one compete with such a woman but why should she need to compete with Letitia Stanaway? She squared her shoulders. Desborough was nothing to her.

The music for a set of quadrilles had begun. Sir Walter led Emma onto the floor.

The dance was nearly at an end when she caught sight of Desborough who stood at the edge of the dance floor with Letitia Stanaway. She started and missed a step, forcing herself to smile in acknowledgment. 

He didn't return her greeting but stared at her with what looked like anger and amazement. Within a moment, at the turn of the dance, he was lost to sight.

With an effort, Emma continued to smile at Sir Walter and to pretend an enjoyment she didn't feel. When the dance ended, Sir Walter escorted her to her seat. She was making herself agreeable to his pleasantries when they were interrupted by the arrival of Desborough. He nodded curtly at Emma's greeting and said to Sir Walter."Would you excuse Miss Napier. I have a word to say to her in private."

Sir Walter looked surprised. Emma rose quickly and excused herself. "I'll be back with you in a moment, Sir Walter."

Desborough drew her into a deserted alcove. He said in a furious voice. "Why are you wearing such a revealing gown?" 

She was too astounded to speak. 

He continued. "You'll make your excuses to Lady Matilda and I'll escort you to Langridge House so you can change into another gown."

"How dare you speak to me like that," she gasped. "I'll do no such thing. There's nothing wrong with my dress."

"The neckline is far too low as you damn well know."

She blushed, and was desperate to cover the front of her dress from his accusing eyes."Will you please move out of my way so I can return to Sir Walter," she demanded, trying to control her rage.

He put his hands on her shoulders and forced her to face him. "You will do as I say."

"I'm not going to change my dress. Aunt Matilda said it was presentable."

"So you had doubts about it, my girl," he retorted. "Let me tell you, your aunt is far too modern in her ideas of dress but please yourself. We'll dispense with Lady Matilda. I'll escort you to Langridge House without her permission."

"I'm not returning to Langridge House with you." 

"Aren't you? It's in your hands if you wish to cause a scene, my dear."

"You're unpardonable." 

He gripped her arm and began to propel her before him.

She gasped with pain. "Let go of me. I'll do as you say. I've no choice as you don't seem to concern yourself with making an exhibition of yourself or of me," she added, her voice bitter.

"I'm glad you're being sensible, my dear. Now make your excuses to Lady Matilda." His voice had lost its harshness.

"What am I to say?"

"You'll think of something." He was unrelenting. With his hand beneath her elbow, he forced her to where Lady Matilda held court among a group of her contemporaries.

Lady Matilda was surprised when Emma whispered she must return to Langridge House to change her gown. "What's wrong with it?" she asked. 

"It's too tight under the arm." Emma gave the first reason to come into her head.

Lady Matilda was shocked. "I wouldn't have expected it of Miss King. She's such an excellent dressmaker."

"It was my fault." Emma didn't want Miss King to be blamed. "I should have said it was too tight when she fitted the dress."

"You certainly should have." Lady Matilda was cross. "Look what straits you are in now. Whoever heard of anyone at a ball returning home to change their gown? Surely you can tolerate it until the end of the evening?"

Emma wished she could say yes but she could see Desborough waiting. "No, it's too uncomfortable." In desperation, she added. "I feel it will split to the waist."

Lady Matilda frowned. She knew if she returned to Langridge House, it would be her undoing. The proximity of her bed would be too tempting. Consequently she said. "Should Abby go with you?"

"Abby's engaged to dance with Adrian." Emma didn't know whether she was or not but she didn't want Abby to be a spectator to the coming row she must surely have with Desborough.

Lady Matilda was in a quandary. She didn't want to interrupt what she considered could be a serious courtship between Adrian and Abby.

Emma continued as she tried to hide the enmity she felt towards his lordship. "Lord Desborough has offered to escort me."

Lady Matilda knew it wasn't correct for Emma to go off in the middle of a ball with Desborough to change her gown, however innocent she knew it to be. In spite of his lordship's notoriety, she trusted him with Emma's reputation. "All right," she agreed, reluctant. "But be circumspect about it." No one need know, she comforted herself as she turned back to her friends. Her concern was soon forgotten in some titillating gossip about a not much liked acquaintance.

When they reached Desborough's carriage, Emma said, "It won't be necessary for you to accompany me as I'm not returning to the ball."

Desborough's smile was visible in the half-light from the lanterns. "I'm happy to escort you to Langridge House. " 

She snapped. "Please yourself then."

His hand was on her elbow as he assisted her into the carriage. Emma shook if off and sat opposite him, tight lipped and determined not to speak. She couldn't stop him from escorting her that was evident but he would soon realize their friendship, if she was ever friends with him, was at an end but it seemed he was being deliberately obtuse and ignoring her chilly manner, inquired with his usual urbanity. "Is young Myers still bent upon sowing his wild oats?"

"I don't see much of Gerald," she was forced to answer. "He and Miles Louden have become great friends and spend most of their time together."

"So your two beaus rub along well together?"

"They're not my beaus." She eyed him in dislike. "Why should I bother with other admirers when you appear to be dangling after my favors? My aunt tells me I'm the envy of all the mamas who have eligible daughters on the marriage market, not to mention the eligible daughters themselves."

He laughed. "I'm glad you realize my value, my love."

She was nettled by his jocular tone. "Aren't you afraid I might snare you into marriage?"

"You have already."

"You have snared me." She could just make out his profile in the darkness of the carriage. "What's happening about the annulment? It's time you gave a straight answer instead of dilly-dallying about the place."

"Do I do that?" he asked, amused.

"Yes, you do. You know you do. You're doing it now. You promised you'd have the marriage annulled within three weeks and look how long I’ve been in London." 

"I'm sorry. Believe me when I say I don't wish to upset you but the circumstances being as they are. Trust me, Emma. I think only of you." His voice sounded tender.

It enraged he, he had the effrontery to think she would believe him, especially with his mistress at the ball. "I'm enjoying myself too much to be wed."

He released her hand and said in a cool tone. "You are already wed, my dear."

"I've told you; I don't consider the farce enacted in that disreputable inn a marriage whatever you or the law might say. When Richard returns he'll sort it out if you're unable to do so."

"I've no doubt your brother and I will come to some agreement even if it's one that might not please you."

"What do you mean?" Her voice rose. "You needn't worry you'll have to stay married to me. Neither my brother nor I will hold you to that contract. I won't need to be recompensed either, if that's your concern. Just to have the marriage at an end will more than compensate for all the worry I've had."

"Believe me, I'm sorry."

"So you say but I don't believe a word of it. You only think of yourself. If I had met Sir Walter at The Three Feathers, he wouldn't have forced that marriage onto me."

"Ah, but Fryer Smith didn't need a wife as desperately as I did." He was playing with her, teasing her into a good humor as he had many times before.

She was wise to his tactics and before she could stop herself, she blurted out. "You should have invited one of your mistresses to be your wife." She felt shocked that she had said it but she had wanted to say it and now it was said, let him talk his way out of it.

The playfulness had gone from his voice. "So that's your concern. I'll have to have a word with young Myers." 

"It wasn't Gerald."

"Who was it then?"

For a moment she was at a loss. "The servants. Yes. I overheard them gossiping. You know how they're always talking about the antics of the ton."

"No, I don't know." His tone was contemptuous.

She glared at him. "I've heard most noblemen possess a mistress so naturally I included you. If I made a mistake, please accept my apologies. Anyway, what's wrong with women knowing about mistresses and such?"

"Nothing, but they don't talk about them to the opposite sex and only whisper among themselves."

"What a weak lot. I wouldn't wish to be one of them. I'm talking about it to you." 

"I'm your husband." His voice was gentle. "You can speak to me on any subject except one."

"What's that?" she snapped.

"The subject of my mistresses."

They had arrived at Langridge House. Furious, she was forced to allow him to help her from the carriage.

He ignored her rage. "I'll wait in the hall."

In her bedroom she was tempted to send a message by the maid and inform him she wasn't returning to the ball. She allowed herself to feel the pleasure of such an act but it was short lived. She might not even be safe in her bedroom. It would be like him to shock the servants and come up here to coerce her back to the ball.

With bad grace and the help of a surprised maid, she changed into the blue gown, which Miss King had made for her first ball. The gown she thought so pretty and modish at the first wearing, now seemed childish and insipid after the one she had discarded. The neckline was high and almost covered her collarbones. There should be no complaint about that, she thought, feeling dowdy and spinsterish when she returned to where Desborough waited.

"You were quick," he said as she reached the bottom of the stairs. He draped her cloak around her shoulders, his hands lingering a moment before she shrugged them off.

During the return journey, he told her of the difficulties he was having in hiring servants for Desborough House.

She listened in silence and in spite of her determination not to become concerned in his affairs, she found herself discussing the problems of setting up a large household. She was tempted to ask why he bothered but was mindful of her pledge not to become involved with his problems, but by the time they returned to Mountford House, she found she had promised to ask Lady Matilda's cook if her daughter would be interested in a position in his lordship's household.

Glancing at him as they entered the Mountford ballroom, she was surprised by the stern expression on his face. She wondered if he felt the strain of their secret marriage too. It would reflect badly on his reputation if it became known he had forced her to marry him.

They had scarcely stepped inside the ballroom when Lord James accosted them. He gave a nod to Desborough, and then said to Emma as he took her arm. "I've searched the ballroom for you. I hope you haven't given away the dance you promised me?"

She was about to apologize she had forgotten Lord James request and her dances were all taken when a voice from behind them, asked. "Where have you been, Nicky? I’ve looked everywhere for you."

Emma turned to see Letitia Stanaway looking petulantly at Desborough. 

His voice was smooth as he answered. "You were surrounded by admirers when I last saw you. Two dukes and no less a person than the Prince himself."

With her hand on Desborough's arm, Letitia examined Emma. Her beautiful face held a sharp inquiring expression.

Desborough said."Have you met Miss Napier, Letitia?" He turned to Emma. "Miss Napier, Lady Stanaway." 

Letitia said in an affected tinkling voice. "I believe you've come up from the country, Miss Napier?" 

"Yes, Lady Stanaway." Emma saw the interested glances of several nearby guests and was mortified at being in the company of Desborough and his mistress.

"How are you enjoying the sights? It must be a great change for you."

"It is." Emma could scarcely keep her gaze from Letitia's décolleté. Her new gown had been moderate compared to Letitia's gown. She felt dull in the blue dress she had worn more than a dozen times beside this glamorous creature. She gathered what little confidence she had. "My friend and I have had excellent guides." She won a point, which Letitia wouldn't forgive her, she thought as she saw Letitia's beautiful willful mouth compress into a hard line. 

The orchestra struck up a waltz. Emma turned to Lord James. "You were asking about a dance, Lord James. I believe I have this one available."

With alacrity, Lord James offered his arm. "It will be my pleasure, Miss Napier."

Emma ignored Desborough's cynical expression and gave herself up to Lord James who swept her onto the floor. "You waltz delightfully," he complimented as they circled the ballroom. 

Emma laughed in spite of her wretchedness. "I don't know about that but I have improved since coming to London if I say so myself. You see, the waltz isn't danced in little Gosford."

The music came to a pause. Glancing to where she had left Desborough, Emma saw he hadn't moved. Letitia was still beside him, her beautiful face smiling at him and her arm clasped proprietary through his. Emma looked away, to hide her desolation in the frivolous conversation, which she and Lord James conducted together as they danced.

Letitia said. "So you've been keeping yourself well occupied, Nicky?" At his silence, she continued. "I believe they are taking bets in the clubs about your imminent betrothal."

"Do you look for inside information?" Desborough seemed amused but there was a tightness about his mouth.

"You surprise me with your country miss. You're not serious about her, are you?"

"Why shouldn't I be?"

He was unpredictable, she knew. Once before she had chided him about his possible marriage and he had behaved as he was now. Emma swept past, laughing in Lord James arms. Letitia looked at Desborough. His face was stern as he glanced after them. She felt fear she was losing him, whether it was to Emma Napier or the likes of the young tart he had rescued from Humphrey at Cavendish House. Involuntary her grip tightened on his arm.

Desborough glanced beyond her. There was a cynical smile on his lips. "The Prince is approaching, my dear."

"Damn! I was to have this dance with him." Her face contorted with frustration. She composed herself. "Don't go," she whispered as Desborough made to move away from her.

"Surely you don't wish me to present your excuses to his highness, my love?" he murmured.

"Bastard," she muttered, and smiled brightly, curtseying as the Prince reached them.

The Prince took Letitia's hand and kissed it. "My dear Lady Stanaway, where have you been? The dance is halfway through."

Letitia curtsied again. "My apologies, Sir." She glanced at Desborough and her voice was malicious. "The blame must lie with Desborough. He's been beguiling me with his latest conquest."

Desborough's mouth tightened. The Prince was unaware as he said. "I've heard about that. Shall you give me a tip, Desborough? Are you going to marry the pretty little filly?"

Desborough pretended to be shocked. "Sir! I'd be banned from the clubs if it were known I gave you such information."

The Prince laughed as he took Letitia's arm. "I wish you every success. Now I must abduct this golden beauty."

Desborough bowed. "Thank you, Sir."

The Prince and Letitia joined the throng of dancers. Emma and Lord James were in front of them. Letitia thought there was something familiar about Emma Napier. She stumbled as intuition struck her. How obtuse she was. Emma Napier was the girl at Cavendish House. So she wasn't the virtuous young miss polite society thought her. She felt easier. Desborough would never make her his wife. She was probably playing the innocent to entrap him into wedlock. She would soon realize he was not the dupe she thought him but what was his aim? Surely he didn't think he could seduce Lady Matilda's niece? Not even one of his high rank could survive society's condemnation of such an act.

When the dance ended, Lord James escorted Emma to where Abby and Adrian stood together. "What a crush," Abby said as Emma and Lord James reached them. Abby's face looked flushed and warm.

Emma's forehead was bearded with perspiration. "The ballroom is too small for the invited guests. Abby, have you met Lord James Temby? He is Lord Desborough's friend whom I met at the tea shop in the park."

Abby, who hadn't met Lord James, exchanged greetings with him. 

Adrian said, "Will I see about procuring some lemon squash?"

Abby, fanning herself, smiled at him. "That would be lovely, Mr. Weaverham." 

Lord James volunteered to accompany him. They had only been gone a few minutes when Desborough arrived.

Abby remarked again at how warm it was. Desborough agreed. Abby suddenly noticed Emma's dress. "Why, Emma," she said in surprise. "You're wearing another gown."

"The other one was too tight," Emma muttered, aware of Desborough's mocking expression. "Lord Desborough was kind enough to escort me home so I could change."

"My good deed for the evening," Desborough said.

Abby glanced from one to the other. She sensed all was not well between them and was glad when Adrian and Lord James returned.

When the next waltz struck up, Desborough was beside Emma. "You see, I don't mean you to give away all my waltzes."

"I would have forgiven you if you were otherwise engaged." 

"Would you?" he sneered as they reached the edge of the dance floor. He took her in his arms and she smelt the sweet aroma of wine upon his breath as he drew her closer than what was circumspect. For a moment his cheek rested against her hair. 

Briefly she acquiesced. The warmth of his body was curiously comforting. She forced herself away from him. His smile was grim. "I'm glad you remember the conventions." 

"Which is more than you do, my lord." Emma's voice was sharp to cover her confusion.

"Now what do you mean by that?"

There was the same devilish expression on his face as there had been at The Three Feathers. Emma knew she would be unwise to annoy him in his present mood. She forced herself to speak lightly. "Why should I mean anything? I must thank you for teaching me to waltz. Lord James was loud in his praises."

"I suspect you're trying to humor me."

"Maybe I am." She couldn't keep the tartness from her voice. "You've had too much to drink, my lord."

"Spoken like a wife," he said, sarcastic. He spent the rest of the evening with her except for an occasional dance with Abby. Once he persuaded Lady Matilda to take the floor. His behavior was exemplary. One might forget he possessed one of the worst reputations in London and it was only his name and fortune, which kept him in favor with the society mamas.

Letitia was with the Prince and his cronies. The Prince wouldn't let her out of his sight. The pundits were already forecasting that Letitia Stanaway would be the Prince's next mistress. Lord Stanaway hovered around the edge of the Prince's set, looking a lonely sick old man.

Emma felt sorry for the aged roué. Then she remembered he had wed Letitia when she was sixteen. She glanced at Letitia, not seeing the beautiful sparkling woman holding court but a fearful young girl forced to marry a man old enough to be her grandfather, to pay her father's debts. No wonder in the prime of her beauty, she sought the love of a man her own age. Her claim to Desborough was more valid than hers, Emma thought, as she stood silent while Adrian and Abby talked together.

Though it was after two when their carriage returned to Langridge House and three by the time Emma fell wearily into bed, she couldn't sleep. Desborough's dark face and Letitia's golden beauty wouldn't leave her. She knew she must end her relationship with him. Richard must put an end to it. She lay awake until the dawn, composing a letter to her brother, informing him of her marriage and her desire to see it ended. That should see Richard return in a hurry. If he had been a normal brother and had done his duty to her instead of his country, she wouldn't be in this predicament, she thought in a morass of self-pity as she sank into sleep.


 


Chapter Ten

 

"I can't imagine Adrian Weaverham going picnicking," said Gerald as he watched Emma throw a handful of crusts to a bevy of white swans.

"Neither can I."

"I wonder why he invited Abby?"

"She's great friends with the little girls. They're very fond of her as she is of them."

"Will he ask her to marry him, do you think?"

"I don't know. Aunt Matilda speaks about their engagement as being almost assured but Abby says they're only friends. If Adrian wants to marry her, surely he would have given some hint of his intentions by now." Emma threw the last crusts to the swans who flapped their great wings to get at the bobbing bread.

"You'd think so." Gerald stared at the swans as they gobbled the last of the bread. "I might go home next week." 

Emma looked at him in surprise. "I thought you'd be here a few more weeks yet."

Gerald didn't want to tell her he had gambled most of the money his father had given him for his holiday. His passion for gaming terrified him and he was frightened some catastrophe would overtake him if he stayed in London. "When are you going home?" he asked Emma. 

"It depends when Richard arrives."

"Why wait in London for him? Come home with me."

"Abby doesn't want to leave yet. Her uncle might not allow her another visit. Aunt Matilda would be disappointed too. She wants me to take up permanent residence with her."

"Are you going to?" It shocked Gerald to think that Emma wouldn't always live in Little Gosford.

"I might spend the season with her. I enjoy the theater and the social functions. Little Gosford will seem dull after the bustle of London."

"London has been exciting but I'll be glad to be home."

"I thought you enjoyed London life?"

"I do, but not to stay. I guess I'm like my father, a country squire at heart."

"Your parents will be pleased."

"I've been a pretty horrific son at times."

"Growing pains!"

"I suppose so."

Emma gazed at the slowly moving stream. "Do you remember when you pushed me into the brook at home?"


Gerald looked horrified. "Surely I didn't." He laughed. "But you did look funny with your hair and dress all wet. Mrs. Purse was dreadfully cross and threatened to tell the squire about my terrible deed as she called it. I lived in fear for a week. I don't think she told my father. At least, nothing was said to me. I'm sure he'd have chastised me if he'd known." He paused, remembering. "Mrs. Purse isn't such a bad old thing. She always gave me a piece of chocolate cake when I visited Lansdown."

"Nanny knows the way to a boy's heart. Chocolate cake is a favorite of hers. She insists cook always has one in the cake tin. She has such a sweet tooth."

"I'm not surprised. She's a little roly-poly."

Emma slipped an arm companionably through Gerald's. Reminiscing made her homesick for Mrs. Purse and Lansdown. If it weren’t for Abby, she would return to Little Gosford with Gerald.

They came to an open area of the park. Ahead of them, in the bright sunlight, were the blue and white striped awnings of a small stage set above the heads of a crowd of spectators. "What are they looking at?" Gerald wondered as they walked towards it. 

"It sounds like a Punch and Judy show," Emma said as Punch's raucous voice echoed across the grass.

Minutes later, they were standing behind the crowd, watching the antics of Punch and Judy and little dog Toby. "What a horrible character Punch is," Emma said.

"You used to like old Punch." 

"That was when I was younger. Judy has my sympathy now."

"Punch certainly rules with an iron hand. Perhaps some females like it that way."

"I'd hate to be married to a domineering man."

Gerald was startled by her vehemence. He wondered what had upset her but Emma’s moods were soon forgotten as he pondered whether he should try to win back some of the money he had lost. Miles said he was mad to. "No good throwing good money after bad," said Miles. "It's my belief you only win when you don't need the money."

Perhaps Miles was right. Miles gambled because it was what gentlemen did but for Gerald, it brought hotness to his blood, which he hadn't known before. 

Not far from the Punch and Judy show, a buxom woman had set up a lemonade stall. "She looks nearly as large as Mrs. Rich," Gerald whispered as they neared the stall.

Mrs. Rich was the baker's wife at Little Gosford, who was secure for all her size in the affection of a husband who was almost as large as she was. This woman in her snowy white apron, looked equally content. Emma doubted whether her husband would have a mistress.

"Would you like a lemonade?" Gerald asked.

"Yes, thank you, I’d love one," Emma bent to ease her sore heel in her sandal. 

Gerald paid for two mugs of lemonade.

"It's a lovely day, isn't it?" the woman said with a smile as she took his pennies.

"It is," Gerald agreed as he handed Emma one of the mugs of lemonade.

"Do you set up here often?" Emma asked, the woman's soft country brogue reminding her of Little Gosford.

"I come here every weekend while the lemons last. We have our own trees."

Emma drank the lemonade in the earthenware mug. It was sweet and full of lemon.

They had continued on a short distance when Emma said. "I wish we could find a seat so I can look at my foot. I'm sure I've got a blister on my heel."

"There are seats further ahead," said Gerald who had visited the park before. "And cabs we can hire to take us back to Lady Matilda's if you can't walk." 

They came into an area where there were beds of flowers and cobbled paths and wooden seats set under trees. Emma limped to the nearest seat and undid her sandal. The skin on the back of her heel was red and broken.

Gerald sat beside her. "That looks nasty. What are you going to do?" 

"Tie a handkerchief around it until I get home." She opened her reticule and took out a tiny lace-edged hanky.

Gerald watched as she tried to wrap it around her heel. "It's too small," he said in scorn. He pulled a large crumpled handkerchief from his pocket and shook it out, examining it and saying. "I think it's clean enough." He proceeded to fold the handkerchief into a triangle and knelt in front of Emma and began to tie it around her foot.

He was in the midst of this operation when a woman escorted by two men, paused beside them. The woman said."I believe it's Miss Napier."

Emma glanced up and was dismayed to see Letitia Stanaway. 

"You seem to be in difficulties, Miss Napier?"

"I have a blister on my heel." Emma felt at a disadvantage with her sandal off and Gerald kneeling before her.

Gerald hurriedly knotted the handkerchief and rose to his feet, thinking Letitia's voice sounded familiar.

Emma tucked her bare foot under her skirt. Her sandal lay out of reach on the grass in front of her where Gerald had carelessly tossed it.

Letitia turned to the two men who accompanied her. There was irony in her voice as she said. "May I introduce Miss Emma Napier, Humphrey. Sir Humphrey Balshaw and Mr. Giles Glenroy," she continued.

"My friend, Mr. Gerald Myers." Emma was forced to introduce Gerald.

Gerald took Letitia's hand and bowed low over it much to Emma's annoyance.

"How will you return home, Miss Napier?" Letitia inquired, looking in amusement at Emma.

"Gerald is going to hire a cab." Emma glanced at her sandal sitting up on a piece of turf for everyone to see. She wondered how she was going to retrieve it, as Gerald seemed to have forgotten it.

"I'm sure Humphrey will drive you. He has his carriage here."

Sir Humphrey looked surprised. He hadn't intended to return home just yet.

"I wouldn't wish to impose upon you, Sir Humphrey," Emma said quickly.

"It would be my pleasure, Miss Napier." Sir Humphrey bowed.

"No, no, we wouldn't wish to inconvenience you, would we, Gerald?" Emma's look was commanding.

Taking his cue from her, Gerald said. "I thank you for your offer, Sir Humphrey, but I'll have a cab lined up in no time. There seems to be a plentiful supply waiting at the gate."

"Sir Humphrey lives near Langridge House so it would be foolish not to allow him to drop you off." Letitia's smile was so brilliant, Gerald was overcome. He could only nod and grin inanely at her to Emma's annoyance. "So it's decided," Letitia continued. She glanced at young Mr. Glenroy who was sulkily silent. "Giles will accompany me home."

Sir Humphrey, noticing Emma's sandal, picked it up, saying, "Is this your sandal, Miss Napier!" He bent to take hold her foot hidden beneath her gown. "Allow me to assist you."

"I can manage." Emma quickly thrust her foot back under the seat and held her hand out for the sandal.

Sir Humphrey laughed and gave it to her.

She took the sandal and thrust her foot into it and fastened the buckle, conscious all the time of Sir Humphrey's glance upon her.

Sir Humphrey took her arm and Emma was obliged to go ahead in his company while Letitia followed with the two young men.

Emma thought she would have something to say to Gerald about leaving her with a libertine if ever she saw one in Sir Humphrey.

When they reached Sir Humphrey's carriage, she was forced to sit between Sir Humphrey and Gerald. Sir Humphrey's great thigh was hard up against her, however she tried to edge away from him.

Sir Humphrey asked Gerald. "What's your address? I'll set you down there before I drive Miss Napier home." 

Before Emma could nudge Gerald in warning, he had given the baronet the location of Mrs. Hunt's lodgings. 

When Adrian Weaverham asked Abby if she would join him and his daughters on a picnic, her first inclination was to refuse. She was afraid of this new emotion, which she felt for him and thought the less she saw of him the better.

Adrian forestalled any refusal by saying. "Jenny and Fanny are looking forward to your company. They have a splendid meadow of buttercups to show you." 

She couldn't disappoint the little girls, she thought, so she agreed and Adrian was satisfied.

They reached the picnic ground just before noon. Adrian drove them in his carriage. He spread the thick rug on the grass while Abby straightened out the edges.

Fanny and Jenny wanted to open the picnic hamper immediately. "I don't see why we shouldn't begin our picnic." Adrian looked across to Abby for confirmation. "What do you think, Miss Derries?" 

Abby smiled at the excited little girls. "One must always eat immediately one arrives at the picnic place. Jenny and Fanny must be as famished as I am."

Adrian laughed. "Just as well Mrs. Thomas always packs more than one can eat." 

After they had eaten and drank the lemonade bottled in glass flasks, Jenny and Fanny ran off to gather the wild buttercups growing in profusion in the meadow. Their father called to them not to wander out of sight. "Have you had enough to eat?" he asked Abby. 

"Yes, thank you. It was a delightful luncheon. You were right about Mrs. Thomas. She packed enough to feed a regiment." Abby leant on her elbow and stifled a yawn as she watched a bee hover over a buttercup. It was a drowsy day, the sort of day on which nothing momentous happens. 

"Are you comfortable?" Adrian asked. "I'll bring the cushions from the carriage."

"No, please, don't bother." 

He was insistent and in a few minutes returned with an armful of the bright colored cushions. "Where would you like them?" 

Abby took several from him. "These will be enough, thank you. You have the rest."

At her insistence, he took a couple of the cushions and propped them behind his back as he leant against a tree.

"Children have boundless energy, haven't they?" Abby remarked as she watched Fanny and Jenny running from one patch of buttercups to another.

"Yes, although they do collapse rather suddenly." 

Abby glanced at the sky. The clouds hung motionless like bits of fluff. "Emma and Gerald and I used to go picnicking at Little Gosford. It seems now we spent all summer in the meadows."

"So you had a happy childhood?" Adrian gazed soberly at her.

She thought for a moment. "I suppose I did." In Little Gosford, she would have felt awkward in a situation like this but here it seemed natural they should be together in this comfortable way. She had ceased to worry where their friendship was leading and refused to think ahead to the morrow. Soon Richard Napier would arrive in London and he and Emma would return to Little Gosford and she would go with them. She could scarce continue her stay with Lady Matilda without Emma. She would miss London and especially Adrian. Well, soon enough to worry about that when it happened. As Emma seemed to remark a lot lately, what was the use of worrying. It didn't solve anything. She glanced up to see Adrian watching her. She blushed, asking, "Do you often take Jenny and Fanny on picnics?"

"I frequently do during the summer. It's difficult being an only parent even with a household of servants to help one."

"It must be hard to bring up two little girls on your own." Abby glanced to where Jenny and Fanny were dropping pebbles in the small stream meandering through the meadow. "Lady Matilda spoke about your wife's accident. It would have been a great sorrow for you and your daughters." 

Adrian frowned. "I loved Rose dearly but one can't mourn forever. It's been five years since her death." He glanced at his daughters as they played along the edge of the stream. "I've often thought I should marry to provide the girls with a mother but until now there hasn't been anyone I wished to marry." 

Abby blushed and fiddled with a fringe on a cushion. Not even the most obtuse could mistake his meaning but still she doubted this urbane sophisticated man wished to marry her. Not after she had behaved so foolishly in running away from him.

He moved closer and took her hand. "Abby. I may call you Abby, may I not?" His voice was gentle. 

She blushed again.

"You must call me Adrian. I'm sorry my visit to your uncle caused you so much anguish. No, look at me," he demanded. "We must have it out. I didn't know your uncle was insisting you accept my imminent proposal. Believe me, I'd no thought of asking you to marry me. I wanted to promote our friendship first."

"I was very foolish." She bit her lip to stop it from trembling.

His hand was comforting on hers. "You were worried out of your mind. I wanted to protect you." He lifted her hand and kissed it. "You are a patient understanding woman, Abby. Is it any wonder I love you and want to marry you?"

She blushed in confusion.

"Have I spoken too soon?" He was anxious.

She shook her head. "How can you marry someone who behaved as foolishly as I did."

"Then you'll marry me?" He couldn't keep the joy from his voice. 

"Yes, yes." She almost laughed the words. "I must have been mad at Clapham. To think what I could have lost because of my stupidity."

His kiss was tender. "Not mad, my love, but browbeaten into almost a nervous illness by your uncle. I promise you'll never regret our marriage. If you're agreeable, we'll leave for Little Gosford immediately to ask your uncle's permission." He placed a hand under her chin and lifted her blushing beautiful face to his. "Do you want a long or short engagement?"

"I don't know. I can't think." She could scarcely believe Mr. Weaverham, Adrian, as she was now to call him, really wanted her to be his wife. She was in a daze and couldn't decide anything even if her life depended upon it.

"Very proper to begin." His voice was warm. "You'll make a most dutiful wife. I wish it were tomorrow, nay today. I feel a most impetuous lover." He laughed at her confusion. "But it must be the bride's prerogative to decide on her wedding day. There are your bride clothes to be thought of but I hope you'll not be long about getting them."

With Adrian prompting, Abby agreed a marriage in three months wouldn't be thought too soon after an engagement. 

Jenny and Fanny came running up to them. "Papa, can we go further down the stream."

Adrian glanced at his watch and remarked in amazement. "It's past three o'clock. How quickly time passes when one is happy." He glanced at his daughters. "No, my dear, it's too late today. Next time, we'll explore the stream together." He held his hands out to Abby and drew her close for a moment. "I suppose, I must return you to Lady Matilda," he said, reluctant. 

When Desborough called at Langridge House, he found Lady Matilda alone in the morning room, working at a piece of tatting. She put her work aside and welcomed him profusely. "How delightful to see you, Desborough. I'm quite bored with my own company." In answer to his question to where Emma was, all she could say she didn't know except the servants said she had gone out in company with Gerald Myers.

Desborough frowned at this information.

Lady Matilda was annoyed she had thoughtlessly informed him of it. Of course, she knew there was nothing but friendship on Emma's part in that relationship but did Desborough know? Perhaps Gerald and Emma might eventually marry if Emma returned to Little Gosford. Lady Matilda considered it would be a waste if Emma were to throw herself away on a mere squire's son, no matter how well set up he might be. With her beauty and charm, Emma was meant for higher things. Contrary to her own good sense and what some of her friends hinted about Letitia Stanaway and Desborough, Lady Matilda had convinced herself his lordship was serious in his intentions to Emma.

Now she tried to say in a way not too obvious to the blasé young man seated opposite that there was nothing serious in Emma's friendship with Gerald but the few sentences she formed in her mind were so blatantly transparent she quickly discarded them and instead asked Desborough to take tea with her.

After a maid had brought in the tea, Desborough said. "Emma informs me her brother is due in London at the end of the week."

"So we thought." Lady Matilda handed him the tea. "We, or rather Emma received a letter in the post from Richard this morning. He says he doesn't expect to return for another two weeks."

Desborough frowned. 

Lady Matilda continued with her grievances. "Richard has always been a most unsatisfactory brother. I was forever suggesting to him that Emma live with me and be presented at court but Richard wouldn't hear of it. He said he didn't intend his sister to become an empty-headed court butterfly. Can you imagine Emma being that?" Lady Matilda demanded.

Desborough agreed he couldn't.

"Richard said when he returns to London, he'll set Emma up as his hostess and introduce her into society. He's always been eccentric and disapproves of girls making their debut and angling for husbands, which is the natural course of things." Lady Matilda ignored Desborough's mocking expression. "But I must give Richard his due. He's always treated Emma as an equal though I've never agreed with him allowing her control of Lansdown. It's too much of a responsibility for a young woman, don't you think?"

"Maybe."

Lady Matilda was encouraged to continue. "Emma is the executor of Richard's will as well as his heir." She looked meaningfully at his lordship who chose to ignore her. "You'd think it more sensible if Richard made a male family member the executor of his estate."

"I'm not sure I agree," Desborough said with memories of his cousin. "I don't see anything strange in Richard Napier leaving control of his fortune to Emma seeing she's to inherit it. She's a sensible young woman."

Lady Matilda wondered if he was teasing her. "Would you do the same?" she asked. 

"I might if I was assured of Emma's capabilities as Richard Napier apparently is."

Lady Matilda was flabbergasted at the ideas of the younger generation. "It's made Emma so self-reliant," she protested.

"Is that a bad thing?"

Lady Matilda wanted to prove her point and inform him of Emma and Abby's unwise journey to London but she suspected Desborough might not relish that escapade. For a man who appeared so morally lax himself, he seemed to have strong convictions on how females should conduct themselves. Lady Matilda stifled a yawn and continued with her small talk. "It's been a delightful day, hasn't it? It makes one feel drowsy. I don't suppose we'll have too much more of this weather seeing we're nearly into autumn. Just as well the weather has been favorable today. Abby and Adrian have taken his two small daughters on a picnic. Picnics are nice for the young but the insects, ants and things. It's much more pleasant to eat in one's own dining room." She paused. Desborough seemed not to be listening and was staring out of the window. "Has someone arrived?" she asked.

"Yes." His voice was curt as he stood up. "If you'll excuse me a moment, Lady Matilda." Without elaborating further, he strode to the door.

Hiding a yawn, she wondered what had upset him. If she had the energy she would discover for herself but she decided she would know soon enough and took the opportunity to take a quick nap while he was away.

Desborough came down the steps as Sir Humphrey helped Emma from the carriage. He ignored Sir Humphrey and said in a cold voice to Emma. "Lady Matilda is waiting for you." 

Before Emma, in all good manners, could thank Sir Humphrey, Desborough had propelled her into Langridge House. With his face close to hers, he demanded in a furious undertone. "How is it that Balshaw escorted you home?"

Emma was flustered by his animosity. "I had no choice. Gerald wanted to hire a cab but Lady Stanaway was insistent Sir Humphrey drive us." She told him of their meeting with Letitia and Sir Humphrey in the park.

He listened in angry silence. "I'll have you know that Balshaw is the man who molested you at Cavendish House."

Emma was flabbergasted. "Are you sure?" 

"Yes, so be warned. In no circumstances must you accept favors from him. Balshaw has a reputation for seducing young women."

"What a ghastly creature. Do you think?" Emma stopped. "Oh, my lord, do you think he knows it was me at Cavendish House?"

"I hope not. Balshaw will spread the rumor if only to get back at me."

Emma was mortified. "It seems I've much to learn about London society."

"It seems you have." Desborough had recovered his good humor. "With my help you'll learn quickly enough." He took her arm. "Let us join Lady Matilda. She's been entertaining me to tea and the latest gossip."

They hadn't been seated five minutes when Abby and Adrian arrived. After exchanging greetings, Adrian said as he glanced at Abby who couldn't keep the color from flooding her face. "You must be the first to congratulate us. Abby has promised to be my wife."

Though Lady Matilda had lived for weeks with the expectation of Abby's betrothal to Adrian, now it had happened she could scarce believe it. For one of the few times in her life, she was at a loss for words. "Well, you've sprung this on us," she stuttered.

Emma jumped up and hugged Abby, saying warmly. "I'm so glad. I know you'll both be very happy." She kissed Adrian."I've no need to tell you what a lucky man you are, Adrian. I may call you Adrian, may I, for Abby is like a sister to me?"

He kissed her in return. "You shall be my sister too, Emma." 

Desborough held out his hand. "Congratulations, Weaverham. You've made an excellent choice." He bent to kiss Abby. "So have you, Miss Derries. I've no doubt you'll be very happy together."

"Thank you, Lord Desborough." Abby glanced at Adrian and blushed. "We will. At least, I will."

"And so will I, my dear." Adrian smiled at her confusion.

"You could have given a hint of your intentions," Lady Matilda complained to Adrian.

"But how could I, Lady Matilda? I first had to ask Abby. She may have refused me." He smiled at the blushing Abby.

"I could have told you different if you'd confided in me. We must have a party to celebrate. If I'd known, I would have had cook prepare something special for dinner. You must stay for dinner too, Desborough, if you're not otherwise engaged."

"I'll be pleased to celebrate with the happy couple, Lady Matilda."

"How marvelous it is," Lady Matilda continued. "I'll be the envy of all the mamas."

"It's not yet official, Lady Matilda," Abby warned. "We first have to ask my uncle."

"That's no hurdle. Your uncle will welcome your betrothal with open arms." 

When Lady Matilda heard the wedding was to be in three months, she said it was much too soon. "But I can see you're determined so there's nothing to be done except to begin planning. Where's the wedding to be?"

"We haven't decided." Abby looked at Adrian for guidance.

"That's for you to decide, my love."

"London, I suppose. It'll be more convenient for Adrian."

"Abby will be a most dutiful wife, Adrian." Lady Matilda smiled happily at the blushing Abby. She said to Emma. "Just as well you aren't announcing your engagement too, my dear. We'll have our hands full with Abby's affair."

"I don't know why you should think my engagement is eminent, aunt. There isn't a gentleman about I wish to become engaged to." 

Lady Matilda was scandalized. Glancing furtively at Desborough, she thought her niece was determined to ruin any chance she might have with that young man but his lordship didn't seem fazed by Emma's answer. He said in a mocking tone. "I'm glad, my dear Emma. It would be unsuitable for you to consider an engagement at the present time."

If Lady Matilda thought it a strange comment, she didn't dwell on it. She was certain Desborough would make his proposal soon. She ignored the gossip and the innuendoes floating around the drawing rooms of London about Desborough and Letitia Stanaway. As far as she could see, the arrival of Letitia in London hadn't made any difference to Emma and his lordship's relationship.




 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eleven

 

After Letitia watched Sir Humphrey drive away in the carriage with Gerald and Emma, she turned to Giles Glenroy and linked her arm through his, saying sweetly. "Let us return home and take tea while Humphrey is away, my love. You may read me your new poem."

In her pink and white boudoir, Letitia took off her sandals and sank on the sofa among the pink and white lace cushions, exclaiming. "How my feet ache."

"Allow me to massage them for you, dear Letitia." Without waiting for her to answer, young Mr. Glenroy drew up a low stool beside her. 

Letitia leant against the cushions and pondered what was to be done about Emma Napier.

Her relationship with Desborough had begun like any of her previous affairs, except this lover was more charming, intelligent and beautiful than any of the others. In the beginning, she had given no thought of permanency to the affair but these last weeks of separation from him had made her realize how desperately she wanted him.

Oblivious to young Mr. Glenroy's lips moving as he silently composed some lines to the elegance of her feet, she dwelt on her visit to Desborough's lodgings that morning. She had waited near his apartments in a closed carriage and saw him arrive and enter the house. A few minutes later, she directed her driver to inform Desborough's man she wanted to speak to his lordship.

She had watched from behind the curtained windows of the carriage while Symonds spoke to her driver. The driver returned. "Mr. Symonds said his lordship is not at home, my lady." 

Letitia's first inclination was to storm Desborough's front door and demand Symonds allow her entrance but she controlled her rage and told the driver to take her home.

She saw Giles Glenroy looking at her with an expression of desire on his boyish face. He took her hand and passionately kissed the palm of it.

She caressed his face. His youthful skin, so different to her husband's coarse ravaged face, felt firm and smooth. It was months since she had allowed Arnold to touch her. She might permit Giles to take her to bed. He had a gentle touch, though he possessed none of Desborough's passionate love making. A tremor ran through her as she remembered the last time she and Desborough were together.

He was furious with his cousin who managed his inheritance and swore he would wrest its control from him if he had to marry a milkmaid to do so.

"Marry!" Letitia sat up naked in bed and looked at him.

He cupped one of her breasts and kissed it. "What's wrong with the wedded state? You're married."

"I had to marry."

"So do I, my love. If my cousin isn't to ruin me, I must find myself a wife." 

"What about us?"

"So!" He lay back on the satin pillow, his look quizzical.

"I thought..." Letitia stopped. For the first time she considered she might become his wife.

He laughed as if he had read her thoughts. "We shouldn't be suited, my love, but after I marry, there's no reason why we shouldn't continue as we are until one or both of us wish to end the affair."

"You're a cold-blooded devil, Nicky." She looked angrily at him.

"Am I?" He pulled her into his arms. "You're always telling me how I fire your blood." His lips were warm against her throat as her fingers dug into his shoulders. She was under him, her golden hair spread across the pillow. "God, you're beautiful," he whispered, his caresses becoming more demanding as her fingers entwined in his dark hair.

Letitia was aroused from her thoughts as Sir Humphrey came into the room. 

"This looks a pretty scene." Sir Humphrey was sarcastic as he glanced to Giles at Letitia's feet. "Is this why you wanted to be rid of me?"

Giles jumped up, furious at Sir Humphrey's unannounced entrance.

"Don't you ever knock, Humphrey?" Letitia stretched against the cushions like a contented cat. "Tell me, Humphrey. Did you have an interesting drive?"

"Very. Desborough was at Langridge House to greet me."

Sir Humphrey was satisfied with her stunned expression. "He wasn't pleased to see Emma Napier in my company either. In fact, he was decidedly put out. Who is she?"

Before Letitia could answer, Giles said. "She's the sister of Richard Napier, the diplomat. It's the first time she's been to London and she's all the rage. Desborough has just about cut everyone out. Fryer-Smith was making a play for her but he's not so keen now."

Sir Humphrey's eyes glittered. "So she's a green one. I envy Desborough his task of teaching her a thing or two." 

"Goddard's laid out a thousand guineas she'll be the future Marchioness of Desborough. You couldn't get a wager now against the marriage no matter how hard you tried. Everyone knows Desborough has to marry to gain control of his inheritance."

"I thought he did have control of his fortune." Sir Humphrey was thoughtful. "He's been spending a lot of money restoring Desborough House. His cousin, who managed the Sefton inheritance, has been dead these past three months."

"Has Nicky control of his fortune?" Letitia asked.

"I don't know, my pretty. It's interesting he had to marry to gain control of it and as far as one knows, he isn't married yet."

"He told me he was going to marry a milkmaid. Of course, he was joking." Letitia tittered. "Imagine a milkmaid as the Marchioness of Desborough."

"How interesting. I must make some inquiries."

Later, when Letitia and Sir Humphrey were alone, Letitia said. "You know who Emma Napier is, don't you, Humphrey?" 

"Do I?"

"She's the girl you tried to ravish at Cavendish House."

"That little minx. So she's not as innocent as she pretends. No wonder our friend, the marquis, was furious when he discovered her there. Not a place for his future marchioness to be seen."

"If she is to be Nicky's marchioness!" Letitia sneered. "Gerald Myers escorted her to Cavendish house. He was the young man I was with after Nicky had dealt with you."

Sir Humphrey was angry. "One day his lordship will get his comeuppance. Young Myers isn't so innocent either. I've seen him in the gambling dens, risking his money and he hasn't always been winning."

"He sounds an interesting young man. I might further my acquaintance with him." 

"Haven't you enough young swains dancing at your feet?" Sir Humphrey sounded impatient.

"There's no need to be facetious, Humphrey. I think I'll invite him to dinner."

"What are you planning?"

"I don't know what you mean?" 

"I mean, my love, you'll not make Desborough jealous enough to marry you no matter how many men you hold captive in your train. If Stanaway were to die tomorrow, he wouldn't make you his wife."

"What makes you think so, Humphrey?" Letitia looked angrily at him. 

"He’ll have a virgin to grace his table and bear his brats."

"Is Emma Napier a virgin?" Letitia breathed heavily."You must find out, Humphrey. I wouldn't be surprised if Gerald Myers has already had his way with her."

"If that's so, I wonder at Desborough's interest in the girl."

"Perhaps he doesn't know." The thought of Emma in Desborough's bed enraged Letitia.

Sir Humphrey saw her fury. Wanting to annoy her, he said, "Desborough might already have bedded her."

"Why don't you find out?"

"Maybe I will. If it's true, I'll put a spoke in his wheel you can be sure."

Gerald was surprised when a billet arrived from Letitia, inviting him to dinner at her house. He was attracted to her but she was Desborough's mistress or had been, though he was beginning to question if he could believe Miles bit of gossip.

At the dinner party, Letitia was the only woman present in company with Sir Humphrey and Giles Glenroy. Her attentions were turned upon Gerald.

He was embarrassed at the obvious jealousy of Giles Glenroy. Though Giles was of a similar age to him, Gerald thought him too unsophisticated for the sparkling Letitia but he preferred the effeminate Giles to the sneering Sir Humphrey whom he guessed to be forty at least and too old for the vivacious Letitia. He wondered where Lord Stanaway was. The gossip was all over town that he was drinking himself to death.

To his query, Letitia said, "Dear Arnold is abed. His valet thinks he has caught a chill." 

When they finished their meal, Letitia said, "Let us go out." She placed her hand over Gerald's. "Where would you like to go, my dear?"

"Anywhere." Gerald pressed her hand in return. Indeed, anywhere would be heaven with this gorgeous creature.

"Humphrey!" Letitia glanced across to the baronet who watched them. "You shall be our guide. Where will you take us?"

Sir Humphrey, who had been drinking whisky all through dinner, said in a harsh tone. "Why go anywhere? You're doing very nicely here or do you want more pretty men dancing in attendance."

Though Letitia laughed, her eyes gleamed angrily as Sir Humphrey refilled his glass from the whisky decanter. 

Giles jumped to his feet and giving Sir Humphrey a look of dislike, bowed to Letitia. "I'll take you wherever you wish, dear Letitia."

"To bed is where she'd wish you to take her," Sir Humphrey sneered.

Giles looked as if he was about to spring upon Sir Humphrey. 

Letitia placed a hand restrainedly upon his arm. "Humphrey is determined to behave like a bear tonight." She smiled at Giles and Gerald. "You both may escort me. We'll leave Humphrey here to sulk over the whisky decanter, which I see he's nearly emptied."

Sir Humphrey climbed to his feet. Straightening his coat across his broad shoulders, he bowed to Letitia. "You don't get rid of me so easily, my pretty one. Tell me where you wish to go and I'll drive you there." He eyed Gerald and Giles morosely. "And these pretty swains of yours."

Half an hour later, Sir Humphrey's carriage set them down outside Cavendish House.

Gerald had been in luck at the gaming tables when he returned to Cavendish House to search for his mystery stars and moon lady but tonight he was determined not to go to the gaming rooms. That resolution was soon dashed when Sir Humphrey suggested to Letitia she would do well to lose her pin money immediately so she could concentrate on the dancing.

Standing beside the green baize table, Gerald placed ten guineas on number ten. The dice rolled and twenty guineas were pushed towards him. With Letitia beside him, he continued to win. She was his talisman. He watched the dice roll his way again. At the end of an hour, he had won five hundred guineas. He felt the blood racing in his veins and his eyes blazed with excitement. He scarcely heard Giles say to Letitia. "This is a tame affair. Shall we go downstairs."

Gerald wasn’t aware of their departure. He pushed another twenty guineas onto the green baize. The numbers fell his way again. He was invincible.

By one o'clock, he was writing I.O.U.'s. His luck must change soon, he thought, as he added up his borrowings and discovered he was a thousand guineas in the red.

It was after three when he left. He didn't look for Letitia in the ballroom. His mind was numb and he could scarce define the direction to Mrs. Hunt's lodgings. He was sick on the way and retched violently behind a tree in a park. He wanted to drown himself in a pond nearby but knew since he was a reasonable swimmer; it would be an impossibility to do so. It was daylight when he arrived at Mrs. Hunt's. He slunk upstairs, unaware of the sounds of the staff already at work in the kitchen below. 

Lady Matilda who had not recovered from the excitement of Abby's betrothal, said to Abby. "I expect we'll soon be inundated with well-wishers." 

"Adrian and I aren't officially engaged yet, Lady Matilda."

"I know, my dear, but I've already sent messages to my friends and they'll quickly pass on the news of your forthcoming nuptials. It's just as well you put off your journey to Little Gosford until tomorrow."

"You mustn't deny Aunt Matilda her triumph," Emma said as Lady Matilda flitted off to give instructions to the cook. "She's been praying Adrian would propose to you since he first stepped into Langridge House."

"I'm truly indebted to Lady Matilda. If it weren’t for her kindness in allowing me to stay here, I would never have met Adrian again. I can scarce believe we are to be wed."

"You and Adrian are truly fortunate."

Abby looked affectionately at her. "I wish the same for you. Do you think you and Desborough…."

Emma interrupted quickly. "I expect I'll find someone one day."

By mid afternoon, there was a congregation of well wishers in Lady Matilda's drawing room, offering their congratulations to the happy couple. 

Florence Trigwell and Mr. Pollitt were two of the early visitors. Florence kissed Abby on the cheek, saying, "Mr. Pollitt and I were about to depart on an errand to choose a new sofa for Mr. Pollitt's drawing room when Lady Matilda's footman arrived with the happy news."

"Yesterday we chose the new drapes for the drawing room," Mr. Pollitt said. "Miss Trigwell has persuaded me that yellow drapes would suit better than the brown ones already there."

"You made a wise choice, Mr. Pollitt," Abby said. "Light colors will help brighten your room." 

"The curtains in my study are shabby and threadbare so Miss Trigwell suggested the brown drapes would be suitable to hang there." Mr. Pollitt didn't relish the thought of perfectly good curtains being thrown out.

"How do you manage, Florence, when you haven't seen Mr. Pollitt's house?" Abby asked.

"He has drawn a layout of the rooms, which is very helpful," Florence explained. She turned to Desborough. "How are you progressing with your refurbishing plans, my lord?"

"They're proceeding as well as can be expected." He drew her aside. "It seems I should have hired your services, Miss Trigwell. It might have saved some confrontations with the gentleman who is overseeing the necessary changes to my house."

"You have employed an excellent man."

"He has the reputation of being the best in town but that doesn't necessarily mean his ideas agree with mine."

"Are you living at Desborough House, my lord?"

"I've moved into some family rooms, which I don't want refurbished yet."

Mr. Pollitt was describing to Emma and General Pennington the various shades and designs of yellow curtain material, which he and Miss Trigwell had looked at when he suddenly stopped speaking and stared beyond Emma and the General.

Emma followed his gaze and saw the subject of his interest was Florence and Desborough who were talking together. He began to speak again but it was evident his concentration had wavered. 

Several minutes later, he said, "I suppose Miss Trigwell and I should be about our business. I promised to have her returned to her parents by teatime."

Emma watched him make his way towards Florence while she listened to General Pennington tell of the difficulties he'd had when he refurbished his drawing room. She saw the amused expression on Desborough's face when Mr. Pollitt reached them.

After Florence and Mr. Pollitt had taken their leave, Desborough sauntered over to Emma and the general. After greeting that gentleman, he asked if the general would excuse Emma as he had something he wished to discuss with her. 

"What do you wish to say, my lord?" Emma asked as he drew her away from the general's vicinity. 

"It was nothing in particular. I thought you might prefer conversing with me instead of the general."

"Why should I? The general was in the midst of an interesting tale about the hazards of redecorating one's drawing room." 

"Perhaps it should have been me who had the conversation with the general."

"Are you having difficulties in your restoration activities, my lord?" 

"I would welcome any advice, your advice perhaps."

"Florence would advise you better than me."

"But I'm inviting you." 

"It wouldn't be thought proper for me to visit you in your home, my lord."

"I would invite Lady Matilda too."

"You are becoming very conventional." 

"Am I?" He continued in a conversational tone. "You look like a bride in that white dress." He added, "White and virginal."

She flushed. Her voice was sharp. "You forget where you are and who you're talking to." 

"Do I?"

"Yes; now if you'll excuse me, I wish to see if Gerald has arrived."

"Are you expecting him?"

"Of course. Mrs. Hunt and Melissa are here and they would surely have told him of Abby's engagement." 

He took her arm. "Let us forget about Master Myers while I choose a cake for those sweet lips of yours to enjoy."

"No thank you. I'll leave the cream cakes for those who don't mind the extra pounds about their waistline."

After they left Lady Matilda's, Mr. Pollitt assisted Florence into the carriage. He took the reins from Lady's Matilda's groom and moved the pair of horses forward across the square. In contrast to his usual talkative manner he was preoccupied and it was Florence who made the conversation. She was in the midst of remarking upon the delightful aspects of the small park they were passing when Mr. Pollitt interrupted. "What were you and Lord Desborough speaking about?"

There was some slight surprise in Florence’s voice as she said, "He was telling me about the difficulties he's having in refurbishing Desborough House. It seems whether the house is large or small, basically there are the same problems. He wants me to visit Desborough House."

"I hope you refused."

"Actually I accepted his invitation."

Mr. Pollitt pursed his lips. "Then I'll escort you. It wouldn't be thought proper for a lady to visit Lord Desborough who has such an immoral reputation."

"My parents would have accompanied me. Lord Desborough has invited them as well. But I thank you for your offer to escort me, Mr. Pollitt, though I'm sure Lord Desborough has no such designs on me."

Mr. Pollitt gripped the reins tightly and urged the horses forward at a faster pace than usual. When he did speak, his voice didn't contain its usual confidence. "I know we haven't known each other more than three months but I've grown very attached to you." He cleared his throat. "In fact, I wonder if you'd do me the honor of becoming my wife?" His voice turned to a croak.

Florence was silent as she contemplated the road ahead.

He gave her a nervous glance. "Please don't give me your answer yet, I beg of you. I shouldn't have sprung my proposal upon you without warning." 

She smiled faintly. "I'm glad you did, Mr. Pollitt. I accept your proposal. You and I should deal very well together."

"So we shall, Miss Trigwell," he said as he found his voice.

"You must call me Florence."

"Of course, dear Florence, and you shall call me Oliver." Mr. Pollitt leant over and kissed her briefly on the cheek.

The next morning after Abby and Adrian had left for Little Gosford, Emma dressed to visit Mrs. Hunt, more to see what Gerald was about than to discuss social niceties with Mrs. Hunt and to listen while she discoursed on her daughter, Melissa's various admirers. She was in the midst of putting on her bonnet when one of the maids informed her that Miss Trigwell was waiting in the morning room. Emma went to welcome her. "Florence, this is a pleasure."

Florence eyed her street attire. "Are you going out?"

"Only to Mrs. Hunt's."

"It will be a nice walk. The morning is sunny and fresh. I'll only keep you a moment."

"I've all day to visit with Mrs. Hunt. Sit down and tell me what you've been about?"

They discussed Abby and Adrian's engagement. "Have they departed for Little Gosford?" Florence wanted to know.

"They left this morning."

Florence sat in silence a moment before saying in a diffident voice. "I hope you won't be offended if I ask whether you're more than just friends with Mr. Pollitt."

Emma was startled. "No, why should you think so?"

"It was just a notion I had when I first met you and Mr. Pollitt." 

"We were only ever friends. Nothing more."

Florence looked relieved. "I hope you don't think I'm being impertinent but I wouldn't like you to think I've usurped Mr. Pollitt's affections. I value your friendship."

"As I do yours, Florence."

"I didn't think there was anything on your part towards Mr. Pollitt, if you'll forgive me for saying, since Lord Desborough is so assiduous in his attentions to you."

Emma was assuring Florence that she was mistaken if she thought there was anything between her and his lordship when sudden realization hit her. "Florence! Dare I say it?"

Florence smiled. "Yes, Mr. Pollitt, Oliver and I are betrothed."

"I'm so happy for you both." Emma forced herself to sound pleased for her friend. "When are you to be wed?"

"We haven't set a date. Oliver has to refurbish his house and my parents have to become used to the idea of my marriage. I've been out in society so long, they thought I would be with them always."

"These things happen when we least expect them."

Florence nodded, and continued speaking in her soft voice about her future marriage. 

Emma couldn't help contrasting the difference between Florence and Mr. Pollitt, and Abby and Adrian for whom marriage couldn't be soon enough. 

Florence rose to her feet. "I've been long enough keeping you from your visit to Mrs. Hunt."

She had no sooner left than the butler admitted Miles Louden into the room. Miles came forward, apologizing."Are you going out? I'm sorry to arrive at such an inopportune time."

"I was on my way to visit Mrs. Hunt and to inquire about Gerald. Now you're here, you might tell me what he's about."

Miles looked uncomfortable. "It's because of Gerald that I'm here."

Emma saw his worried expression. "Is something wrong?" When he nodded, she continued, "I suspected there might be when Gerald didn't arrive yesterday to wish Abby well on her engagement. What has he been up to?"

Miles took a deep breath. "He's been gaming. He's lost a lot of money and can't pay his debt. I'm trying to get the money together. I have half and would beg the rest off my papa but he's away and won't be back until the end of the week. That's why I'm here to see if you can help."

"How could he? The Squire will be very annoyed but I suppose I'll have to help Gerald. How much do you need?" 

Miles expression brightened. "A thousand guineas."

"A thousand guineas!" Emma gasped. "Do you mean Gerald has lost a thousand guineas gaming?"

"Actually it's two thousand. If it were only a thousand, I wouldn't be here now. I've already raised a thousand." 

"Whatever got into him? I don't have anywhere near such a large sum." Emma tried to add up how much she had left of Desborough's sovereigns. "I've nearly a hundred in cash. I'll give you that. My brother's man of business is out of town and won't be back until the end of the week but I doubt whether I could persuade him to advance a thousand guineas at such short notice, whatever the reason. He's dreadfully circumspect."

"Then Gerald is undone."

"I don't understand."

"You were my last hope. If Gerald's debt isn't paid by this evening, he'll be blacklisted at all the clubs."

"I can't see that is a bad thing," Emma said sourly.

Miles thought how hard it was to convey the rules of the gaming table to a mere female. "I've come to the end of where I can borrow the rest of the money."

"I have some jewelry I could sell but I doubt if it would fetch anywhere near that amount." Emma had heard pawnbrokers were notoriously miserable when it came to advancing a reasonable sum for goods offered, beside charging an exorbitant rate of interest. "Gerald should advise his creditors they'll have to wait for their money." She felt a certain satisfaction about that. She was sure they were a disreputable lot.

"Gerald won't do that. He'll join the army instead."

"Whatever for?"

"He says it's the only course open for him to save his family's honor."

"What does he mean? Why does he want to join the army? His father would never allow it."

"He won't be able to stop him. He's of age. I've tried to persuade him against it. I've told him to return to Little Gosford and send the money to his creditors. In a few years, it will be forgotten but he says he won't go home in disgrace."

"I can't see the sense in him joining the army. His creditors will never receive their money from a soldier's pay. Gerald will have to sink his pride. The Squire will be dreadfully disappointed but it can't be helped. I must see him and persuade him out of these foolish notions. I'll go around to Mrs. Hunt's immediately." 

"He isn't at Mrs. Hunt's."

"Where is he then? Is he at your place?"

Miles shook his head. "He's taken a lodging. He doesn't want to come in contact with anyone he knows."

"What did Mrs. Hunt have to say? Surely she wouldn't agree to him moving into lodgings."

"The Hunts think Gerald is staying with me." Miles avoided Emma's shocked expression.

"It's worse than I thought. You must take me to him." 

Miles looked horrified. "I couldn't."

"Why not?"

He floundered. "It's not a suitable place for you to visit."

"If Gerald can stay there, then I can go there." 

"He'll be furious that I've told you. I promised him I wouldn't but I couldn't see him ruin himself for the lack of a thousand guineas."

"You're a good friend to Gerald. If only you'd been able to persuade him against gambling."

Miles shrugged wearily. "He wouldn't listen. He had a big win and it went to his head, and then he went back again with Letitia Stanaway."

"Letitia!"

Miles looked confused, but he knew he had to explain. "Gerald dined with Letitia and Sir Humphrey Balshaw at Stanaway's house. They went on to this gaming hell. I beg your pardon, but it's the only way to describe Cavendish house."

All their problems seemed to be tied up with Letitia Stanaway, Emma thought. "I have to see Gerald. No. You have to take me to him," she demanded when Miles began to protest. "I must persuade him against joining the army. His family would be devastated. He must return to Little Gosford and prove himself by learning to manage the family estate."

"He would do that if only he could pay his gambling debt in time. He's a changed person. He says he brought it on himself and must take his medicine like a man."

"What would joining the army solve? I'm sure I can persuade him against it."

"I hope you can but I fear his mind is made up," Miles said as he reluctantly agreed to take her to see Gerald.



 

 

 

 


Chapter Twelve

 

Though Miles had warned Emma, the district was a slum; she was unprepared for the poverty she saw. 

"I didn't know such places existed." She felt disturbed as the driver picked his way through the narrow rubbish strewn streets to avoid the ragged street urchins playing among the garbage.

The driver stopped outside a dilapidated building. Which windows weren't boarded up, were thickly encrusted with dirt.

Miles helped Emma from the carriage and shooed away the street children who came begging around them. "No, don't give them money," he warned, as she was about to open her purse. "There will be dozens waiting if you do. I'll give them some pennies when we leave."

Trying to suppress her shudder at the dirty faces staring up at her, Emma picked up her skirts and with Miles at her side, walked the few paces to the peeling door of the house.

Miles rapped on the weather-beaten door.

A blowsy overweight woman opened it. She grinned, showing brown broken teeth. "You came to see the young lord?" she asked, her small eyes inquisitive as she examined Emma.

"Yes." Miles was terse. 

The woman stood aside for them to enter. 

"There's no need to show us the way," he continued as the woman went to lead them up the narrow staircase.

She stood back and allowed them to pass. 

As Emma mounted the stairs, she heard the woman yelling at the children in the street. "Off you go, you little blighters. I don't want you around here, frightening off my patrons."

"What a horrible woman," Emma whispered as they reached the landing.

"It's a rotten place," Miles agreed. "I don't know how Gerald can stand it." He led her up another flight of stairs and along a dingy passage where he paused before a door. He rapped on it, calling. "Gerald. It's Miles."

There was movement in the room; the sound of a chair knocked over and a floorboard creaked. The door opened and Gerald stood in the doorway, coat undone, no necktie and a two-day growth of beard. 

Emma was filled with pity and amazement. She had never seen the fastidious Gerald look so unkempt.

Gerald was visibly upset when he saw her. "Why did you bring Emma here?" he accused Miles in a tired voice. "You know it isn't fitting."

"For heaven's sake, that's the least of our concerns." Emma pushed past him, wanting to cry when she saw the squalid poverty of the small room, its only light entering from a web covered skylight. "Don't blame Miles," she said as she tried to calm her agitation. "I made him bring me. He says you're thinking of joining the army." 

Gerald looked angrily at Miles.

"I'm sorry, old man," Miles apologized.

"Well, are you?" Emma demanded.

"I don't know."


"That sounds as if you are. It would kill your mother and your father would be terribly upset."

"You hit below the belt, don't you?" Gerald was bitter.

Emma sat on the broken couch serving as a bed. "I'm sorry, Gerald, but I'm trying to show you how foolish it would be. You'd do better to return to Little Gosford and work on your father's estate instead of escaping into the anonymity of the army."

Gerald walked up and down the small room. "If only I could. As much as I want to return home, for my parents’ sake, I daren't. Can you imagine their shock and embarrassment when I tell them I gambled with money I didn't have and had to flee London in disgrace? It will be bad enough having to ask my father to pay my debts."

"It will be worse for your parents if you join the army. You'll never be able to pay your father back on a soldier's pay."

"Maybe, but they won't have to hang their heads in shame every time they see me. No. My mind is made up. I can't go home with my honor smirched. It would be too much for my father to bear, that his only son has brought disgrace on the family."

"We've got half the money, old man." Miles voice was falsely bright. "We'll pay half the debt, and then you'll be able to go home and arrange to send the balance."

"If only that was the way the game is played, Miles, but you know as I do, I'm honor bound to pay those debts by tonight."

"What does it matter," said Emma. "As long as they get the money, they should be satisfied."

Gerald sighed. It was impossible to expect her to understand. What woman could? "Try to realize, Emma, I'm doing my best to honorably get out of a situation I can only blame on my own stupidity. Please don't make it more difficult for me." He clapped Miles on the shoulder. "I appreciate what you've done, Miles. A man couldn't have a better friend." The two young men gazed at each other and tried not to disgrace themselves by showing emotion.

How foolish and melodramatic they were, Emma thought. "I'll have the money by tonight," she said. 

"Where will you get it?" Miles asked in surprise.

"I'll have the money, be assured of that." 

"You're going to ask Desborough, aren't you?" Gerald blurted out hotly. "I won't have you putting yourself in hock because of me." His meaning was obvious.

Miles started to protest but Emma interrupted. "You're wrong, Gerald. His lordship wouldn't expect such payment."

Gerald was adamant. "I won't get out of my problems that way. I won't accept money from him."

Worried Gerald's salvation was slipping away, Miles said. "Come on, old man, we'll soon pay Desborough back. I'll get the money off my father when he returns next week."

Gerald shook his head determinedly.

"I think you malign his lordship, Gerald," said Emma. "However, it's Aunt Matilda I intend to ask. Of course, I'd prefer not to but seeing you're so determined to pay the debt by tonight, it seems I'll have to."

Miles looked relieved.

Gerald was still suspicious. "I don't want you running around London begging money for me, Emma, especially off Desborough."

She ignored him. "Promise you'll do nothing rash. If you don't, I won't leave here until you do." She glanced at Miles. "Perhaps you should stay with Gerald until I return with the money."

"You can't leave here by yourself," Gerald protested.

"Will you promise?"

He looked hunted. "Oh, I promise."

Emma had another thought. "There's no reason why you should stay here at all. You must return to Mrs. Hunt's."

"I can't go back to Mrs. Hunt's until I'm sure I can pay my debt."

"I said I'll get the money."

"We'll see. In any case what will a few more hours matter. Half the population of England spend their lives in places like this."

He continued to be adamant. Reluctantly Emma and Miles took their leave of him, with Emma promising to return with Miles later in afternoon with the money to pay his gambling debt.

"Are you sure you can raise the money from Lady Matilda?" Miles asked as they drove back to Langridge House.

"Yes," Emma lied. "With the money I have of my own, it should be enough. I'll send one of the footmen to the pawnbrokers with my jewelry." She didn't want to tell him it was Desborough whom she intended to ask. She didn't want to ask Lady Matilda unless it was absolutely necessary. It would be too upsetting for her aunt and she doubted whether her aunt would be able to get such a large sum of money in time.

As Miles set her down outside Langridge House, Emma told him to pick her up at five o'clock that evening. She felt mentally as well as physically exhausted. Gerald's problems had put more strain on her than she supposed. She had to think how to contact Desborough. He was escorting her and Lady Matilda to Almacks tonight but that would be too late. She would have to go to Desborough House to see him. She blanched at the thought. Young unmarried women didn't visit male acquaintances at home. If anyone saw her, her reputation would be ruined but she had to go if she was to have the money by five o'clock. She stifled the thought Desborough might not be able to raise the money either. If only Adrian Weaverham was here, she thought as she stuffed the jewelry in her bag, thinking Desborough might agree to pawn it for her. Adrian would know what to do.

She went downstairs and was about to ask the butler to engage a cab, and then thought it wouldn't do for the servants to know her destination or for her to be seen alighting at the door of Desborough House. She would have to walk.

She'd had no lunch and felt weak and exhausted by the time she reached Desborough House. The great front door was in full view of the passerby, so with her face hidden by a sunshade, she crept down an alley at the side of the house and knocked at a door partly hidden from the public by iron railings.

The door opened and a stern looking manservant stood there. 

Emma was embarrassed by his measured glance. She said as calmly as she could. "I wish to speak to Lord Desborough."

A contemptuous expression flitted across the man's face. "Who shall I say is calling?"

Emma lifted her chin. "Miss Emma Napier."

A look of recognition spread over the man's face. His voice was more congenial as he said. "Would you step inside, miss, and I'll see if his lordship is at home." He closed the door after her. "This way, miss."

She followed him along the corridor and into a wide passage leading through a huge hall with marble floors and walls adorned with priceless paintings and rare objets d'art. 

The man opened a door leading into a large room lined with books. "If you will wait here, miss."

Exhausted, Emma sank onto one of the leather armchairs. 

Within minutes, Desborough arrived. "What the devil do you mean by coming here," he demanded, his expression harsh.

"I had to speak with you urgently."

"A message would have brought me to Langridge house," he told her sternly.

"There was no time and I wasn't sure you'd be home." 

"How did you get here?"

"I walked."

"It's all of two miles."

"It did seem a long way," she admitted. She added tartly. "I didn't want to compromise you. That's why I didn't take a cab."

"I don't worry about myself." His voice was severe. "I'm more concerned about you. If you were seen entering this house, your reputation would be in shreds and that, my dear, isn't what I want."

"Nor I." She was defensive. "No one saw me, I can promise you."

"Thank you for your assurances." He was sarcastic. "Now you're here, you might as well tell me what was too urgent to wait until I saw you this evening."

"Could I have something to eat? I haven't had lunch. In fact, I haven't eaten since breakfast."

He looked startled. "I apologize that I didn't ask you to take tea. I didn't intend you to stay that long." He went to the door and ordered a passing footman to bring a tray of tea and sandwiches to the library. 

A short time later, a middle aged woman arrived with a tea tray. 

"Thank you, Mrs. Adams," Desborough said as the woman set the tray on a small table near him.

The woman smiled and gave Emma an interested glance. 

Emma flushed. After the woman closed the door behind her, she said, "She thinks I'm one of your fancy women." 

Desborough glanced up from pouring the tea. "You brought it on yourself."

"Why didn't you tell her who I am?"

"Explain you to my housekeeper! Perhaps I should have presented you as my wife. Would you have wanted that?"

She was angry, and then remembered what she had come about. It would do her cause no good to argue with him. She took a sandwich and bit into it. 

"What made you miss lunch?"

"I was out." She took another sandwich. It was going to be more difficult than she thought. On the way, she had rehearsed what she would say to him. It had seemed easy then. Now her reason for needing the money seemed unconvincing and there was the worry he wouldn't have the money? Some noblemen were up to their ears in debt, she had heard, and only existed due to the generosity of their creditors. Hadn't Letitia married to save her father from a debtor's ignominy? She glanced about her. Opening Desborough House must be a costing a fortune but there didn't seem to be much change in here. The library had a comfortable lived in look. "How are you settling in?" she asked, thinking anything to put off the dreaded moment when she must ask him for the money.

"Quite well. Would you like another sandwich?"

She glanced to the half empty plate. "No, thank you."

"More tea?" he asked as she placed the empty teacup on the tray. 

She shook her head.

He leant back in the chair. "Why have you come?" 

She couldn't avoid it any longer. "I wish to borrow some money from you. Only until my brother's man of business returns at the end of the week," she added quickly, seeing his surprise.

"Are you being sued by your dressmakers?"

"Of course, not. I promise you'll have the money returned as soon as I can arrange it."

"I've no doubt you'll return it."

"Then you'll lend it to me?" 

"What do you want it for?" 

"To pay my bills."

"What bills?" He suddenly looked affable. All his anger at her arrival had vanished.

She wasn't deceived. She distrusted him more when he was like this and was furious at Gerald for putting her in this position. Taking a deep breath, she said. "I've been gambling so I must pay." She had shocked him, she could see, but he quickly recovered his equilibrium. 

"Of course, all gamblers must pay their dues. You surprise me, Emma. I hadn't thought you interested in cards."

She remembered she had told him of her dislike of cards. "I'm not, but I was persuaded and you know what a dreadful card player I am." That was true, she thought. "So it was only to be expected I would lose and so much too. It terrifies me." She forced herself to stop babbling. His impassive expression unnerved her. 

"How much?"

"How much!" The sharp question further flustered her. 

"Yes. How much did you lose or to put it another way, how much do you owe?" 

"About a thousand guineas." She was conscious of his cynical gaze and felt the thump of her heart. "Does that sound so much?"

"You should know." He was imperturbable. "You were the one who lost the money." 

"Well, I suppose it is rather a lot of money," she agreed, not knowing whether it was or not. "I've brought my jewelry to sell. Do you think you could send one of your servants to the pawnbroker with it? I don't like to send any of Aunt Matilda's servants or go myself." She took the jewelry out of her bag and set it on the small table.

His expression had changed from the sarcastic and was cold and hard as he said. "Now let us stop this play game. What or for whom do you want the money?"

"What do you mean? I've told you."

"For the last fifteen minutes, I've had to listen to a string of untruths. If you want me to help you, you'll tell me the truth. 

She was angrier with Gerald than with Desborough. It was Gerald's fault she had to come here, begging like this. She knew she would have to tell him the truth else she would have no chance of getting the money from him. "It's Gerald, if you must know. He was caught up in this dreadful gambling den and lost money he didn't have. I guess it was a dishonest affair for how could anyone lose so much in one evening?"

Desborough was grimly amused. "Easy, if the stakes are high enough. How much did young Myers lose?"

"Two thousand guineas."

"I hope it has taught him a lesson?"

"It has. You should see the dreadful place where he's living." She told him about the visit to Gerald.

"Do you mean, you went there?" Desborough's voice was stern.

"I had to go to make sure he needed the money as desperately as Miles said he did."

"Louden shouldn't have taken you."

"Don't blame Miles. I insisted he take me. I thought I could change Gerald's mind about joining the army."

"Perhaps a spell in the army would do him good." 

"So General Pennington is always telling him."

"Tell me the details of young Myer's debt and I'll fix it up for him."

Emma was happy to hand him the responsibility. "I have a hundred sovereigns at home and with the sale of my jewelry, you should only need to lend Gerald a few hundred." Then she remembered Gerald's determination not to take money from Desborough. "Perhaps it would be best if you gave me the money to give to him."

"Why?"

"You know he'll be too proud to accept help from you."

His lips twisted. "Does he think I'll force you against your will?" When she didn't answer, he continued. "You should inform him that option is open to me at any time."

She was impatient. "Why do you speak so? Will you give me the money?" 

He drew her to her feet. "I'll give it to Miles Louden. It will have nothing to do with you or me." His arms went around her as he drew her close. "I think you're too complacent about our relationship, Emma," he murmured, his mouth close to hers. There was a tap at the door. He let her go as he called, "Enter."

The butler opened the door. "Lord James Temby has arrived, my lord. I've shown him into an anteroom." The butler's expression was impassive.

"Thank you, Gibson, but I believe you could show Lord James in here."

"Yes, my lord."

Lord James tried to hide his surprise when he saw Emma.

"Emma is just leaving," Desborough said after Lord James and Emma exchanged greetings. "So will you excuse me, James, while I escort her to her carriage."

He took her through the long corridors to the back of the house where a hired cab waited and handed her into it. "I hope Lord James won't mention my presence here," Emma worried. 

"He won't. Don't fret. You'll see. Everything will work itself out." 

She thought he spoke about Gerald and his problems but it was only when the cab neared Langridge House she wondered if it was about their marriage.

Desborough returned to the library and poured two glasses of wine. He gave one to Lord James and sat down opposite in one of the soft leather chairs. "I know you're wondering why Emma was here, James."

"No, of course, not," Lord James began, but stopped, knowing how feeble he sounded.

"You might as well know the truth about Emma and me, seeing you're so interested in my affairs. I married Emma at The Three Feathers."

Lord James eyes appeared to bulge and he nearly choked on a mouthful of wine.

"Control yourself, James." Desborough smiled grimly as he glanced at the wine in his glass. "I was drunk and desperate and perhaps a little mad. You'd know too, if you weren't too drunk to remember, the girl who I was supposed to marry had broken her leg."

"How did you come to marry Emma?"

"She was obliged to stop off at The Three Feathers because of Abby Derries’ illness, so I married her instead." 

Lord James could scarcely believe what he was hearing.

Desborough added harshly. "I forced her to marry me. Emma brought it on herself by pretending to be what she wasn't but to be honest, considering my desperation at the time, I doubt whether it would have made any difference if I'd known who she was. But it could have been worse. There are a few noblemen of our acquaintance who would have no hesitation in seducing a young woman who they thought was a maidservant traveling by herself." His face darkened. "When I think of the danger she put herself in."

Lord James eyed his friend in concern. "You're in rather a hole, aren't you? How does Emma feel about the marriage?" 

"She wants the annulment to go through." 

"My God, it's a wonder she still speaks to you."

"I've had to put a lot of effort into our relationship. She's beginning to trust me and to think I'm not the rake she thought I was."

"What if she discovers your liaison with Letitia?" 

"Who will tell her?"

"Lady Matilda!"

"I doubt it. Lady Matilda hopes to see Emma a marchioness." Desborough sounded ironic.

"What happens now?"

"I'm waiting until Richard Napier returns from Vienna."

"When is he expected?"

"He's been due back these past two months but he keeps extending his time abroad." 

"My God, he's going to be furious. He might even challenge you to a duel."

Desborough's laugh was unpleasant. "He's more likely to demand the marriage be acknowledged."

"Emma will make as suitable a marchioness as any on the market and you do have to produce an heir."

"Exactly." Desborough refilled both his and Lord James wine glasses.

***
Sir Humphrey was admitted to the Stanaway mansion and received by Letitia in her boudoir. "How is Arnold?" he asked as he drew Letitia to her feet and kissed her.

"Extremely ill so his valet tells me."

"A lot of sympathy you show him, my dear."

"He's had a long life. Longer than most people have. My father was sixty when he died. How can I have any regret for those old men who bought and sold me when I was little more than a child?"

Sir Humphrey gazed moodily at Letitia's slender form. "That sob story won't make Desborough marry you. He'll have a virgin for his bride."

"So you've already said, Humphrey." She gave a tinkling laugh. "You don't think Emma Napier is a virgin, do you? You should have spoken to Gerald Myers."

"Where is young Myers? I thought I'd find him here."

"He wrote a charming note informing me he's returning to the country." She showed Sir Humphrey the billet doux.

He read it, snorted, and stuffed it into the pocket of his waistcoat. "I'm not surprised. I hear he's lost his money at the gaming tables."

Letitia's filmy negligee had fallen open, displaying firm breasts and thighs. "Will you have Emma Napier removed to the country too, Humphrey, darling?"

"Surely you aren't serious, Letitia? Me, kidnap Emma Napier! Why should I do that?"

"I thought you wanted revenge on Nicky?"

He smiled grimly. "Don't think you'll persuade Desborough into marrying you if Emma Napier isn't about. You'd do better to marry me when Stanaway slips his wind. I'd allow you more freedom than Desborough and you wouldn't have to bear my brats as you would his, seeing I already have sons."

She began to untie his cravat. "Please, Humphrey, darling."

"You're a devil," Sir Humphrey muttered as he undid his waistcoat and shirt, tossing them on the floor and stepping out of his breeches. His mouth was hard against hers and his hands upon her thighs. She stopped him.

"Will you, Humphrey?" she whispered.

"Damn. But it will do you no good, my pretty." He wouldn't tell her what he had discovered about Desborough and Emma Napier. Desborough and his lady wife. Letitia would fly into a tantrum and it would be the end of bedding her tonight but perhaps he would arrange to have Desborough's wife kidnapped to please Letitia and have his revenge.

When Sir Humphrey arrived at the Stanaway residence a few days later, Letitia told him Arnold Stanaway had lapsed into unconsciousness.

"Poor old devil." Sir Humphrey's regret was obvious. 

"I've sent Nicky a note about Arnold." Letitia sounded like a small child.

Sir Humphrey took her in his arms. "My poor baby, but cheer up." He was suddenly spiteful. "Arnold might recover."

She looked at him in shock. Now she had accustomed herself to her husband's imminent death, the thought of his recovery was devastating. She leant against Sir Humphrey's broad chest. She would regret having to give Humphrey up but Desborough wouldn't countenance their relationship once she was his wife. Dear Humphrey. She could persuade him to do anything. She undid the buttons on his shirt and buried her face in the forest of hair on his chest. It tickled her nose and she began to laugh. 

Sir Humphrey looked at her a moment before undoing the ribbons of her negligee.

***

Emma went down early to wait for Desborough's arrival. After the butler ushered him into the drawing room, she said without greeting him. "Did you get the money?"

"Did you doubt I wouldn't? Are you going to offer me a seat?" He led her to a sofa and drew her down beside him. "Your jewelry." He handed her the bag of jewelry she had given him earlier. "You may wish to wear some of it tonight."

Her hand went to her bare throat. "You should have pawned it. I wouldn't wish you to be short of money. What happened about the money Gerald needed?" 

"I sent it around to young Louden with your name on it."

"Thank you. I'm very grateful. You've saved Gerald's family a lot of heartbreak." She took a packet from her reticule and gave it to him.

"What's this?"

"The hundred sovereigns I promised you."

"I don't need it." He placed the packet on a small table.

"You must have it." She went on. "It really belongs to you." 

"How is that?"

"It's what's left of the money you gave me at The Three Feathers."

"I see. Then it's all the more reason why you should keep it." 

"I have more than enough of my own so I don't need yours, though I was forced to spend some of it when we first arrived in London and I haven't been able to pay you back because of all the ball gowns that Aunt Matilda persuaded me to buy. I have so many. I don’t know what I’ll do with them in Little Gosford. They’ll be too grand to wear there."

Desborough smiled. "I’m sure you’ll find somewhere to wear them. It's a husband's privilege to support his wife."

Emma glared at him. "I must tell you again that our marriage can't be classed as a normal marriage."

His look was languid. "I'm afraid our little game is over, Emma."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean there isn't going to be an annulment."

She was flabbergasted. "Why not?"

"Our marriage is permanent, my dear."

"You can't mean it?"

"I do. Your approach of considering the marriage as not being a marriage has not made it go away."

"You needn't joke."

"I'm not joking. I've never been more serious in my life."

"What's to be done?" she gasped, hardly able to understand.

"Nothing."

"What do you mean?"

"We'll have to make the best of it."

He didn't look worried. How could he sit there, looking so unconcerned? "There must be something you can do? They say you've inherited one of the largest fortunes in England. What use is money if it can't buy what you want? Even if the annulment cost ten thousand guineas, what's that to you?"

Desborough was smiling during Emma's tirade. He now said in an apologetic tone. "Ten thousand guineas is rather a lot of money."

"The way you seem to spend money, no one would think so. Perhaps you're not as rich as they say?"

"Are you worried you've married a poor man? But remember, you're a marchioness. That should mean something, and Lady Matilda has informed me quite a few times that you have a respectable inheritance so that should tide us over any bad patches."

"Why won't you be serious?" Emma jumped to her feet and walked up and down the room. She paused to look angrily at him. "If you haven't the cash, you could sell something. You could sell your horses, or some of the things in your house, or stop the work going on there. That must be costing you a fortune." When Desborough laughed, she said in a furious voice. "I'll instruct my brother's solicitor to look into the matter."

"Do you think he'll do better than me?" Desborough asked with interest.

She glared at him. "I don't know. How could I possibly know? I've had no experience in these matters." She took a deep breath. "If nothing can be done, then it will have to be divorce." She shuddered visibly at the thought.

"What will be the reason?"

"It's a wonder you can ask," Emma snapped. "Your affair with Lady Stanaway, of course."

He looked stunned.

Feeling a certain satisfaction, she continued. "You surely don't think I didn't know?"

"I was naive, I realize now. I suppose Gerald Myers told you?" When Emma didn't answer, he continued, mocking. "What is your plan of action?"

"Oh, how do I know how these things proceed? You surely don't think I should be the guilty party?"

"I wouldn't consider such an ungentlemanly proposition. As for my affair with Lady Stanaway, that was before our marriage so you see it can hardly be regarded as grounds for a divorce."

"So you say. How can I believe it for I'm sure no one else does?"

His voice hardened. "I'll advise you to believe it and it doesn't concern me what anyone else thinks."

"That's just what I expected your attitude would be." She turned from him to gaze down at the fire burning in the grate and took a deep breath, blurting out, "If it's as you say, you'll have to begin your relationship with Lady Stanaway again."

She began to tremble at his silence and couldn't bring herself to look at him. She felt his hands on her shoulders as he forced her to turn and face him. "You don't seem to understand, Emma. Consider. Before a divorce, there has to be a marriage. Do you understand, my dear?" He continued as if imparting the information to a child. "Society first has to know about our marriage before there can be a divorce." He placed a hand under her chin and turned her averted face to him. "So, my dear, you must make the best of it. I think we should deal very well together. At least, I'll never be bored. I don't doubt you'll continue to keep me on my toes with your social indiscretions." He gazed at her moment, and then without warning, he kissed her on the lips. 

Furiously she pushed him away. "Well, my lord, let me assure you, this isn't the end of the matter."

"I didn't doubt you'd fight against it," he murmured. 

"When Richard returns, he'll put an end to this farce of a marriage."

"Even a diplomat with the contacts such as your brother has, cannot end a legal marriage unless there is the consent of both parties."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, to keep control of my inheritance, I need to stay married."

"You mean," she gasped. "You wouldn't have the marriage annulled even if you could?"

He smiled slightly. "Why should we not make a happy married couple?"

Before Emma could reply, Lady Matilda came into the room. "You're early, Desborough, or am I late?"

He moved towards her. "How charming you look, Lady Matilda." He raised her hand to his lips. "No, you're not late. It's I who am early." He escorted them to the waiting carriage. 

Emma knew he was attending Almacks tonight because of her. She had heard him say to Adrian Weaverham, what a bore the place was. She supposed she should be flattered but there was an ache in her. These past weeks, he had set himself to please. He fascinated and charmed her and she could easily fall in love with him if she allowed herself but she wasn't oblivious to his faults. He wouldn't always be so charming. Past experience had taught her that. He was basically selfish. His whole upbringing had done nothing to alter that. She would rather not have him at all than share him with Letitia Stanaway and the others who would surely follow in her wake.


Chapter Thirteen

 

Florence Trigwell and Lady Matilda were in the morning room when Desborough arrived that evening in answer to a message from Lady Matilda. Both women looked upset and worried. "Emma and Mr. Pollitt left this afternoon and haven't returned," Lady Matilda told him as she explained why they had sent for him. "They didn't say where they were going, which was very lax of them." 

"Have you inquired at Oliver Pollitt's lodgings where he is?"

"Mr. Pollitt's man said he hasn't seen Oliver since he left his lodgings early this afternoon," Florence informed him. "He said his master was in a disturbed state." 

"We can't discover who sent the message delivered here to Emma," Lady Matilda said. "I've already sent servants to ask various friends and acquaintances. The footman, who took delivery of it, said he didn't recognize the man who brought it."

Desborough frowned. "I'll speak to the footman." But he couldn't discover any new information and returned to the morning room and said to the waiting women. "I wonder if the note came from Gerald Myers?" 

"Emma told me that Gerald had left for Little Gosford this morning," Lady Matilda said.

"So I understand." Desborough excused himself and sent one of Lady Matilda's servants to ask Miles Louden to come to Langridge house. 

The servant returned with the information that Miles wasn't home and his servants didn't know when he would return.

"I'll send my people to inquire around the town," Desborough said as he took his leave of Lady Matilda and Florence. "I won't be long. Try not to worry," he said as he left. 

Reaching Desborough House, he informed Symonds of the situation, deployed his servants to where they should go and ordered the secretary to send any information the servants brought back, to Langridge House. He was about to make his departure when Lord James arrived.

Lord James made light of Emma's disappearance but when he saw how worried Desborough was, he volunteered to join the search for her.

"I've already sent my people to do that, though I feel it's a lost cause. I suspect Emma may have returned to Little Gosford to escape me, though there's the mystery of the note delivered to her. It probably hasn't any connection with her leaving but I wonder how she persuaded Oliver Pollitt to escort her. He's supposed to be engaged to Florence Trigwell."

"What will you do if she's gone? Release her from the marriage?"

"It's too late for that. She must accept the marriage as permanent."

"My God, you can't force her, Nick." 

Desborough bowed his head. "She shall be persuaded. Now I must return to Langridge House. I left Lady Matilda in a state and Florence Trigwell for all her good sense, isn’t much better. I suspect she sees her only chance of a stable marriage escaping back to Little Gosford."

"I'll come with you."

"No, keep your appointment. Is she very beautiful?"

"She’s beautiful and dangerous. It's taken two weeks to entice her to a private dinner but see what a good friend I am. I'll give it all up."

Desborough's laugh was forced. "I thank you, James, but it's not necessary for you to do so."

Lord James was adamant. He sent a message to the lady in question with an excuse of some pressing business and left with Desborough.

When Desborough and Lord James returned to Langridge House, Lady Matilda was more agitated than when Desborough had left. "No," she said in answer to his question. "There's still no word of them." To Desborough’s question to whether Emma had taken any of her clothes, Lady Matilda said. "The maids don’t think she’s taken anything."

"Neither has Oliver Pollitt," Desborough said. "I called at his lodgings on my way here."

"What does that mean?" Florence asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

"I don’t know. Have you had dinner?"

"I couldn't possibly eat a thing," said Lady Matilda. "How could Emma go off like this without saying a word." 

"Come, Lady Matilda, you'll feel better for eating." Desborough ordered the servants to prepare a meal. When it was ready, he resolutely led her to the dining room.

When Lord James inadvertently informed them of two lovers eloping, Lady Matilda put her hands to her head in despair. "You don’t think Emma and Mr. Pollitt have eloped, Desborough?"

Florence had paled.

Desborough’s voice was sharp. "No. Oliver Pollitt has too much propriety to be a party to a situation like that."

Later Florence asked him in a low voice. "Do you think they might have gone to Little Gosford, my lord?"

"It’s possible."

She continued in a lifeless voice. "Oliver has always been fond of Emma. I think he wished to make her his wife."

Desborough put his arm around her to comfort her. "Believe me when I say they haven’t eloped, Florence."

The clock in the drawing room chimed twelve. Desborough said to the two women. "You should both retire. You can do no good staying here."

"I couldn’t sleep a wink," Lady Matilda declared in a strangled voice.

"Come, madam. If there’s any news, I’ll inform you immediately."

At Desborough’s insistence, Lady Matilda rose to her feet. With Florence one side of her and Desborough the other, the two of them escorted her to her bedroom. Desborough said to Florence. "You should get some rest too. I’ll tell the servants to prepare a bed in Lady Matilda’s room so you’ll be company for each other. No," he said as she began to protest. "We can do no more tonight."

When Desborough returned, Lord James had a whisky ready for him. He gulped it down. "Want another?" Lord James asked.

Desborough shook his head.

"Should you get a few hours rest, Nick?" Lord James placed a hand on his friend’s arm. "Allow me to tell the servants to make a chamber ready for you."

"Not now, James. You could order another pot of coffee from the kitchen before the servants retire." Desborough was restless as he moved about the room. "It’s strange that Oliver Pollitt didn’t take any of his gear."

"Perhaps he went off on the spur of the moment."

"He doesn’t seem a spur of the moment person."

"This time he might have stepped out of character. 

To make conversation while they waited for the coffee and to take Desborough’s mind off the present, Lord James said, "I hear Arnold Stanaway is very ill."

"Dying!"

"Maybe. Letitia will be a rich widow when he goes."

"Excessively rich."

***

Mr. Pollitt had arrived at Lady Matilda’s that afternoon and asked to see Emma. When she arrived, he said without preamble. "I've just come from Mrs. Hunt's. She said Gerald had left unexpectedly for Little Gosford. She was surprised by his abrupt departure. Do you know why he went?"

"Not really." Emma avoided Mr. Pollitt's suspicious glance as she fiddled with a vase of roses and pretended to arrange the blooms.

"I've heard Gerald has been frequenting the gambling hells. When I admonished him about it, he was very uncivil." Mr. Pollitt added in a sudden burst of candor, "He accused me of meddling in his affairs but I've always had the best intentions towards him. When one sees the younger members of one's family making mistakes, which might ruin their lives, it's difficult not to advise them. Not that they take much notice." He was gloomy. 

There was a knock at the door. A footman entered with a note. Emma read it, a look of horror spreading across her face.

"What's wrong?" Mr. Pollitt asked.

"It's from Gerald. He didn't leave after all. He says he's in trouble and asks I go with the man who brought the note. 

"You can't go alone. I wonder at Gerald expecting you to. I'll come with you."

Emma knew Gerald wouldn't be pleased to see his uncle but she'd had enough of Gerald's problems. She realized she would be glad of Mr. Pollitt's company.

They had left the wider streets and gracious houses and had entered an area of small alleyways and shabby buildings. "I don't know this part of London," Mr. Pollitt said. "Perhaps I should ask our destination." He let down a window and called to the driver to stop. "I can't seem to make the fellow hear," he said as he resumed his seat.

Emma felt uneasy. "I wish I'd thought to leave a note for my aunt."

"I blame myself for not thinking of it."

"I hope we can soon settle Gerald's problems. We're expecting Lord Desborough to dinner." He would be furious with her, Emma knew, and she spent the next minutes trying to think of some excuse to give him but she doubted if she could persuade Mr. Pollitt to join in a convincing lie.

It seemed they might go bowling along the narrow streets forever when the carriage suddenly came to a halt. The driver jumped down and opened the door, waiting for them to alight. 

"Why didn't you stop when I ordered you to, my man?" Mr. Pollitt demanded. 

The man looked sharply at him, and then cupped a hand to his ear."What did you say, my lord?"

In spite of his annoyance, Mr. Pollitt felt some pleasure at the man's salutation.

The driver pointed towards the door of the building."Go up the stairs and into the first room on the left where the young sir is waiting, my lord."

Mr. Pollitt nodded. "Wait here, my man," he said in a peremptory voice.

The man grinned uneasily.

Mr. Pollitt took Emma's arm and as they entered the building, they heard the sound of horses put into motion.

"I think our driver has left," Emma whispered. 

She and Mr. Pollitt stood in indecision. "It will be difficult getting a cab in an area like this," Mr. Pollitt said crossly. "I wonder at Gerald asking you to come to such a place."

Emma remembered when she had gone with Miles to see Gerald at a house similar to this. She worried that Gerald might have had a last gambling fling to try to win some money before he left London. He didn't want to ask his father to repay her; though Emma had told him she wasn't in a hurry to have it returned and was planning to ask Desborough if he was agreeable to Gerald re-paying him in installments.

They continued up the narrow staircase dully lit by a small window on the landing above. "First door to the left." Emma pointed it out to Mr. Pollitt. 

He rapped on it. They heard a faint movement from within. He rapped again. There was no answer. 

"It sounds if there's someone inside," Emma whispered. She called softly. "Gerald. It's Emma. Can we come in?"

They waited but still there was no answer. Mr. Pollitt turned the knob and opened the door. The room was in darkness. Tentatively Emma followed him into the room. There was sound and movement and Mr. Pollitt fell to the floor. Before Emma could speak, there was a blinding pain to her head. She gave a sharp cry and fell unconscious against Mr. Pollitt's senseless form.

Some hours later she regained consciousness. She tried to move her arms and legs but was unable because of the constricting bonds binding them. Her limbs ached and there was an unbearable throbbing in her head. Her eyes became used to the darkness. She made out a chair and a single bed and a heavy chest by the window. To ease the agony of her aching limbs, she struggled to a sitting position. Feeling sick, she drew her knees up to her chest and rested her head on them, waiting for the nausea to subside. Becoming used to the darkness, she saw Mr. Pollitt's inert form a few feet away. 

Edging towards him, Emma nudged him with her foot but he didn't move. She was terrified he was dead. She struggled to touch his face. His skin felt warm. She breathed in relief but her relief soon vanished as she wondered how badly hurt he was. It was impossible to summon help while she was trussed up like a suckling pig.

At what seemed like hours, she heard Mr. Pollitt move. He grunted behind the gag. 

Emma could only murmur back. 

He struggled to sit up, gasping with the effort. After some minutes, he swiveled around so one of his boots came up against Emma's hands. He tapped at her bonds with his booted foot.

The movement sent pain shooting through her aching hands and arms. She mumbled at him to stop through the gag.

He grunted, and then tapped at her hand with his boot again.

More to stop him than anything else, she touched the top of the leather boot and gave it a tug.

He grunted excitedly.

Her fingers moved awkwardly along the side of the boot and found a small pocket set in its side. Straining, she pushed one finger into the pocket and touched metal. She bent her finger and hooked into a metal ring. Drawing a knife out of the pouch, she murmured her success from behind the gag.

Mr. Pollitt screwed himself around until he was back to back against her and was able to take the knife. He grunted as he struggled to open it. Succeeding, he began to saw at the rope around Emma's hands.

She held her breath, expecting to feel the blade cutting into her flesh.

The rope gave way. Freeing her hands, she stretched her arms to ease the numbness.

At the sound of footsteps on the stairs, she took the knife from Mr. Pollitt and hurriedly cut though his bonds. They waited in fear as their owner lurched along the landing. A minute later, there was the sound of a door opening and slamming shut. 

After his hands were free, Mr. Pollitt took the knife and cut their gags and the ropes around their feet. "Are you all right?" he whispered in a hoarse voice. 

"Yes, except I have a terrible head and am dreadfully thirsty. How do you feel?"

"The same. We must get away from here before anyone comes." He limped to the tiny window and drew aside the hessian curtain, to look down on the street below. "It looks deserted," he whispered. "It's too risky to leave by the door so it will have to be the window." He pulled the two blankets off the bed and began to knot them together. "I'll lower you to the ground with these." 

He pushed up the window. It grated noisily against its wooden frame. They stopped in fear, expecting their abductors to rush in through the door. "Are you ready?" Mr. Pollitt whispered after he had knotted the blankets together. "They seem firm enough," he said as Emma sat on the windowsill and swung her legs over. She took hold of one end of the blanket. "Hang on tight," he whispered as he lowered her over the edge of the windowsill. 

Emma hoped he was right and the blankets were strong enough to hold her weight, but she forgot about that in her haste to reach the ground in case their abductors disturbed him. The skirt of her dress caught on a nail and ripped from waist to hem. She knocked her hip against a protruding stone edging and had to clamp her lips together so she didn't cry out in pain.

"Jump," Mr. Pollitt hissed from above when he had let the blankets out to their full length.

She let go and landed hard on the cobbled street. The force of the landing threw her off balance and she fell forward onto her knees. She gasped aloud at the stinging pain in her hands and knees.

Mr. Pollitt jammed the end of the blanket under the heavy chest and clambered down the length of it, jumping down beside her.

"Which way?" Emma whispered as he regained his balance.

He glanced up and down the dark street. "I don't know. We must get away from here." He took her hand and hurried down the street, turning at the first cross road.

They had walked for several hours when they had to take shelter in a doorway from a sudden shower of rain.

The rain blew in, drenching them both. Emma shivered with cold. Mr. Pollitt took off his coat and wrapped it around her, hugging her to him as he tried to protect her with his body. "I wonder why we were abducted, or rather, why you were? It was you they were after. It was lucky I was with you." 

"Not so lucky for you, Mr. Pollitt, but I don't know what I would have done without you." Emma tried to stop her teeth from chattering. "I don't know why I was kidnapped but how is Gerald involved? I hope nothing terrible has happened to him."

"Time to worry about that when we arrive home."

Emma's dress was soaked. The water ran in rivulets down her neck and between her breasts. In the light of the growing dawn, she saw the congealed blood on Mr. Pollitt's face. His face as well as being bloody, was dirty and rain streaked and his hair stood up in tufts. At her concern, he assured her he scarcely felt it except for a sore head.

"We must look a sight." Emma glanced down at her torn dress as she pulled her wet hair back from her face.

"Are you able to continue?" Mr. Pollitt asked. 

"Yes, I can manage," Emma assured him, though her head ached abominably and her grazed hands and knees throbbed with pain.

Mr. Pollitt looked to where the sky had begun to lighten. "We seem to be going in the right direction. Surely we must soon see a landmark we can recognize." 

People were beginning to move about the streets. Mr. Pollitt inquired of one man where they were and if they could hire a cab.

The man looked interested when Mr. Pollitt told him they had been set upon and robbed. He directed them to a street where he said cabs frequently passed along."Though you'll be lucky to find one this time of morning."

The sun was above the horizon when a lone cab came bowling along the road. Mr. Pollitt ran out in front of it and waved the driver down. The man drew his horses to a halt, but seeing Mr. Pollitt's dishevelment, yelled. "Get out of my way, ruffian."

Emma ran to join Mr. Pollitt and added her entreaties to his. "Please," she begged the driver, as he was about to urge his horses forward. "Please help us. We were attacked by villains."

The driver relented and agreed to take them on board. "There better be no funny business," he threatened. He picked up a heavy lump of wood at his feet and showed it to them. "You'll get some of this if there is." 

Mr. Pollitt assured the driver they were sincere and he would be well paid once they reached their destination.

Perceiving he was about to launch into a long explanation of how they had arrived at their plight, Emma interrupted. "Let us get into the cab, Mr. Pollitt. I'm cold and extremely weary."

She leant back against the seat and closed her eyes it seemed only for a moment before she was shaken into wakefulness by Mr. Pollitt's hand on her shoulder. "Wake up, Miss Napier. We’ve arrived at Langridge House."

Emma struggled to her feet. Every bone in her body throbbed. With Mr. Pollitt's assistance, she stepped down on the footpath. 

"What about my fare?" the driver cried. 

"Never fear, my good man, you'll be paid in a minute," Mr. Pollitt called as he escorted Emma up the steps of Langridge House and rapped on the door. 

The door opened and Desborough stood there. 

Emma fell weeping into his arms. From behind her, Mr. Pollitt said. "Would you pay the driver, my lord? My purse was stolen."

Desborough turned to Lord James who had come up behind him. "Can you settle, James?" 

Desborough helped Emma into the morning room and assisted her to a chair. "You look as if you need some medical attention," he said as he examined the bruises and cuts on her face and arms and her badly grazed hands.

"I'm all right." She wiped the tears from her dirty face with the hem of her gown. "I'm not as bad as I must look. All I need is a bath and a sleep and I'll be as good as new."

He handed her a clean handkerchief. "Use this, my love." His tenderness made her cry again. He drew her to her feet. "I'll take you to your bedroom."

She wept on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, but I'm so tired and my head aches so."

Rose came into the room. "I'll attend to Miss Emma, my lord," she said.

For a moment, Desborough seemed about to refuse, and then he nodded, his face expressionless.

The maids brought Emma hot water to bathe in while Rose helped her undress from her sodden clothes. As soon as she had sponged her aching body and Rose had put salve on her grazes, she stumbled into bed and fell immediately asleep.

It was early afternoon when she awoke. Her headache had gone and for a moment she couldn't think where she was. She shivered as memory returned. Climbing out of bed, she dressed as best she could with her hurt hands, brushed her hair and tied it at the nape of her neck with a ribbon, and went downstairs.

The butler said Lady Matilda was resting. "Her ladyship has had a strenuous morning; greeting well-wishers who were concerned about you, miss." He sounded accusing.

"I'm sorry," Emma apologized.

He relented. "Lord Desborough is expected to return shortly, miss."

She flushed, quelling her disappointment at his absence.

"Will I have some tea and sandwiches sent into the morning room, miss?"

"Yes, thank you."

She had poured a cup of tea when Desborough arrived.

"You look much better," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Bruised, but I'm mending quickly. How is Mr. Pollitt? He looked to have suffered a bad cut to his head." 

"I understand his injuries are superficial." Desborough sat beside her. "He’s at the Trigwells. Florence is attending to him. She was concerned Oliver Pollitt might have returned to Little Gosford with you."

"I'm surprised she thought that. I told her there was only friendship between us. Would you like some tea?"

"Yes, thank you. Allow me to pour." He took the teapot from her and poured tea into the extra cup, which the maid had set on the tray.

"Did you think I had gone to Little Gosford?" Emma asked.

"I may have considered it, but then I thought Oliver Pollitt wouldn't have agreed to go with you without informing Florence of it. He appears to want her sanction with everything he does."

"Mr. Pollitt will be a model husband." There was an edge to Emma's voice.

Desborough took her hands in his and examined her red chapped wrists and grazed hands. "Do they hurt very much?"

She was embarrassed by his tenderness. "Rose put some salve on them. They are uncomfortable but will soon mend, I expect. You look weary."

"I spent a worrying night, wondering what had happened to you."

"I'm sorry. We were foolish rushing off without leaving a message but we did think the note had come from Gerald." 

"Miles Louden assures me that he rode some of the way with Gerald on his journey to Little Gosford so you need have no worries there."

"Have you discovered who our abductor was?"

"No. Oliver Pollitt didn't take note of where you were taken."

"I didn't think to either." 

Desborough's brow creased. "Can't you remember a street sign or a name on a building, if only to give the authorities a general direction of the area?"

Emma shook her head. "I didn't notice anything when we arrived, and it was dark when we escaped. We were in a hurry to get away. We thought we were about to be murdered."

"One wonders what would have happened if Oliver Pollitt hadn't been with you." Desborough’s expression twisted. "I'm extremely grateful to him."

Emma smiled. "I never thought to hear you say that."

"I didn’t think I’d ever say it either."

"I'm grateful to Mr. Pollitt too, and for the pocketknife he'd hidden in his boot. We couldn't have escaped without it."

His face looked grim. "Whoever abducted you meant business. I must ask you not to leave Langridge House except in my company until we know more about your abduction."

"I know you mean well but how can I agree? What would my aunt say?"

"I've discussed the matter with Lady Matilda and she thinks as I do." His face was sober. "Whoever abducted you might try again."

Emma shuddered.

"Will you give me your word?"

"Yes." But she was reluctant. It seemed the harder she tried to get away from him, the closer bound she became.

***


While they were at dinner that evening, Lady Matilda said, "I hear Lord Stanaway has passed away." 

Emma was shocked. Now Desborough could marry Letitia. She had deluded herself when she thought he might be serious about their marriage. Now Letitia was free, he would allow the annulment to go through.

"I'm sorry to hear about Lord Stanaway's demise," Lady Matilda continued. "But he was over seventy and we all have to go sometime. Arnold Stanaway has had a terrible dissolute life. He treated his first wife dreadfully and she was such a sweet gentle creature. He collected his dues when he married Letitia Fleetwood. A flighty selfish girl I've yet to meet."

"She's very beautiful."

"Maybe, but men don't always want beauty in a wife." Lady Matilda paused. "Even if they might in a mistress."

It was a moment before Emma spoke. "I know Letitia is Desborough's mistress."

Lady Matilda looked relieved. "I wondered if you did. In fact, I was sure you did. I imagine it was Gerald Myers who told you though he was very wrong to do so."

Emma guessed what was coming and not wanting her aunt to work around it, asked. "Do you mean I still might receive an offer of marriage from Lord Desborough?"

"What I say is, he may continue his relationship with Letitia Stanaway after his marriage. 

"Thank you for the warning. Have you thought he may marry Letitia?"

"He has the succession to think of. To make a woman like Letitia Stanaway his marchioness! No, I don't think it possible."

"Why not? Letitia's family is as well born as any in the country. Surely she can't be blamed for her father's excesses, which brought the family to near bankruptcy." 

"Maybe not, but it's well known Desborough wasn't her first lover. I hope I haven't offended you, my dear."

Emma shook her head.

"I'm glad we had this little talk. All’s well which ends well."

Emma didn't agree with Lady Matilda. She thought miserably of Desborough and Letitia. They might even now be together, planning their marriage.



 

Chapter Fourteen

 

Symonds entered the library and handed Desborough a note. "It arrived from Lady Stanaway this afternoon, my lord," he explained as Desborough opened it.

Desborough gazed at it a few moments before saying. "Lord Stanaway has passed away. Send a message with my regrets to Lady Stanaway, please, Symonds." 

"Yes, my lord. Will you need the carriage this evening, my lord?"

"Yes. I go to Langridge House for dinner."

Emma expected Desborough would cancel his dinner engagement so she was surprised when there was no note from him, advising them of it.

He arrived, behaving like his usual self and ready to discuss with Lady Matilda the new play, starring one of her favorite actresses. Lord Stanaway's death and its consequences didn't appear to concern either of them.

Lady Matilda said during dinner. "We received a note from Richard. He writes he expects to be in London at the end of the week."

Emma saw the relief on Desborough's face. It will be the end, she thought. He'll arrange the annulment with Richard, and then will marry Letitia.

When Desborough returned home, Symonds met him in the hall. "Lady Stanaway is waiting in the library, my lord." 

"I thought I gave orders she wasn't to be admitted?"

"I know, my lord," the secretary apologized. "But her ladyship is in such a state. She's hysterical, my lord. I couldn't leave her on the doorstep for the passersby to see."

Desborough's mouth tightened. He went into the library, saying. "I didn't expect to see you here so late, Letitia."

"Where have you been?"

"Is that anything to do with you, my dear?"

Her blue eyes blazed. "You've been with that fresh faced dairymaid, haven't you?" She grabbed the lapels of his coat. "I've waited all day for you, Nicky. Don't you know what Arnold's death means? I'm free. Now we can be married."

He released her hands from his coat. "You must return home. You're overwrought at Stanaway's death."

She laughed hysterically. "I'm glad he's dead, do you hear? Glad! What love had I for a man I was forced to marry when I was sixteen? What do you know how I suffered in my first year of marriage? It took me that long to realize the power I had over the old fool. How I made him grovel for the few favors I allowed him, but I haven't come to speak about Arnold but you and me, Nicky. What a life we'll have together."

"Go home. I'll see you tomorrow."

"No, I'm staying with you." She put her arms around him. 

He pushed her away. "You must return home. Symonds will escort you to your carriage."

"You're not going to be rid of me so easily so you can marry that milksop of a girl." From the capacious cloak she wore, she pulled out a small pearl engraved pistol. "I'll kill you before I'll allow her to have you."

Desborough paused at the pistol in Letitia's shaking hand. "Come now," he placated as he moved towards her. "We'll discuss it later."

"Promise on your word of honor you'll marry me or I'll kill you." She pointed the pistol at him.

He deliberated a moment. "I can't marry you. I'm already married."

"Married!" Her finger closed involuntary on the pistol.

The sound of the shot reverberated around the walls of the library. Desborough clutched at his side.

The pistol fell from Letitia's nerveless fingers. "Nicky!" she muttered thickly. "I didn't mean to shoot you."

The door opened and Symonds came in. "My lord, is everything all right?" He looked from Letitia to Desborough and whispered in horror as he saw the blood appearing between Desborough's fingers. "My lord, what has happened to you?"

Desborough's voice wasn't as strong as before. He said to Letitia, "Go to Balshaw. Tell him to get you out of England."

"I can't leave you," she wailed. "I might have killed you."

He looked at his blood dripping to the floor. "I think you have."

Symonds reached him. 

Desborough placed his hand on Symonds shoulder for support. The secretary eased him onto a chair and ran into the hall, calling for the butler and telling him to send for a surgeon. "And men to carry his lordship to his room. We must staunch the bleeding," he said to the footman who had arrived. "Get some towels and be quick about it."

"See Lady Stanaway to her carriage," Desborough muttered. He groaned as Symonds eased him out of his jacket.

"She can see herself to her carriage." Symonds trembled with fear and fury. He undid Desborough's shirt and padded the bloody wound with a wad of white toweling and tore Desborough’s shirt into strips and bound the pad tightly to his chest.

"Get out of England," Desborough managed to whisper as they carried him past the sobbing Letitia. "They'll hang you if you don't." He felt cold and it was growing dark.

He was in bed. The light from the lamp hurt his eyes. He wished they would remove it but he was too weary to speak.

Symonds and the valet were undressing him. He felt like a rag doll. The pain in his side was a core of agony spreading its tendrils through his body. "We've sent for the surgeon and Lord James Temby," Symonds said when he saw his lordship had regained consciousness. 

Desborough tried to nod but the effort was too great. He closed his eyes and tried to bear the pain.

"How are you, my lord?" an unfamiliar voice asked.

While he was trying to gather his thoughts to answer, the pad was removed from his chest and cold hands probed the wound. He gasped aloud at the pain.

"The bullet doesn't seem to have damaged an organ, my lord," the unfamiliar voice continued. "But it will have to be removed."

Desborough's head was lifted from the pillows and a glass of brandy held to his lips. "Drink as much as you can, my lord," Symonds whispered close to him.

"I'm going to have to hurt you a little, my lord," the unfamiliar voice said.

It was more than a little. The agony was like a hot searing knife. Desborough's face contorted with pain. Someone was groaning aloud. He realized it was him. He tried to pull away from the pain but strong hands held him down. He gasped and the pain vanished into darkness.

His face was wiped with a damp towel. They were touching his chest again. He wanted to scream, to beg them to leave him alone but the words wouldn't come. A pad was pressed against the wound and a bandage wrapped firmly around his chest. His head was lifted and a glass held to his lips. "Drink, my lord," Symonds whispered.

The vile tasting liquid made him cough and choke. He lay back on the pillows, gasping at the agony in his side. The sheet and blankets were pulled around him and a brass canister of hot water, wrapped in a towel, put at his feet. 

Letitia stumbled from Desborough House and stood on the footpath. Her groom stepped from the carriage parked some distance down the street and came towards her. "Are you all right, my lady?"

She stared at him, and then down at her hand as if expecting to see the pistol still dangling there. Then she remembered she had dropped it on the floor in Desborough's library. It had been one of Arnold's special ones. Illogically she remembered him saying how much it had cost.

The groom took her arm as he escorted her to the waiting carriage and assisted her into it. She slumped against the seat. "Where to, my lady?" the groom asked.

"Sir Humphrey Balshaw's residence," she whispered.

The carriage stopped and the door opened. "We have arrived at Sir Humphrey Balshaw's residence, my lady," the groom said. When she didn't answer, he continued. "Shall I see if Sir Humphrey is at home, my lady?"

When she still didn't answer, he closed the door and in a few minutes returned, followed by Sir Humphrey. 

Sir Humphrey lifted Letitia out of the carriage and carried her up the steps and into his study. He sat her in an armchair beside the fire. "You're as cold as ice, my dear." He took her hands in his. 

"I've killed Nicky."

Sir Humphrey laughed uneasily. "You're not serious, my dear."

"I shot him. He wouldn't marry me. He said he was already married so I shot him." She clutched at Sir Humphrey. "I didn't mean to. I don't know how it happened. I love him so much. I can't live without him. I want to die." She burst into wild sobbing. "What will I do, Humphrey? What will I do?"

Sir Humphrey's arms went around her. "There, my pretty one. There, my pretty."

"Nicky said I was to get out of England, but how can I leave him? He might die." She clung to him.

"Some hot milk is what you need." He ordered the milk from the butler and said quietly so Letitia wouldn't hear. "I'm leaving England immediately. Tell my man to pack clothes and order the carriage, and inform Lady Stanaway's driver to return home and await orders."

Without protest, Letitia went to the carriage and slept all the way to the coast due to Sir Humphrey's foresight of liberally dosing the milk with laudanum.

***

After Desborough had left and Lady Matilda retired to bed, Emma went into the library and was looking for some light reading matter when a footman arrived with the information that Lord James Temby waited in the hall and wished to speak with her. 

Emma ignored the footman's disapproving expression and told him to admit Lord James into the library. "This is a surprise," she began as Lord James entered the room. She was stopped by his look of agitation. "What's wrong?" she asked quickly.

He grasped her hands and held them tightly. "Tell me what's wrong?" she asked again, fearing he’d had too much to drink. 

"It's Nick," he managed to utter, his voice thickened and strained. "He's been shot. I think he's dying." 

The darkness swirled around her as Lord James continued. "He told me about your marriage. I thought you should know, as you're legally his wife."

She shook her head and tried to clear the drumming in her ears. "Where is he?"

"At Desborough House. The surgeon removed the bullet an hour ago but he's lost so much blood and it hurt him so." Lord James stopped speaking and swallowed hard. "He's so weak. It must be the end."

"I'll go to him." Emma spoke with difficulty. "Yes, that's what I must do."

Lord James was relieved. "Yes, you must come. There's no one to nurse him except the servants."

Emma clutched at Lord James arm as they went out of the library and down the hall. Lord James opened the door, neither of them thinking to tell the Langridge servants of their departure.

On the way, Lord James said, "The bullet didn't touch a vital organ, but the surgeon doesn't hold much hope. He told Symonds to expect the worst."

Emma felt totally exhausted. "What happened?" she mumbled. 

"Letitia shot him so Symonds said." 

"Why did she shoot him?"

"I don't know. Symonds didn't say."

The carriage stopped at the front entrance to Desborough House. Lord James helped Emma from the carriage. She stood on the footpath and gazed at the huge stone building, which looked like a tomb in the moonlight. A hard sob welled up in her throat. Her chest hurt and she could hardly swallow. The sob burst shuddering from her. Lord James was too bemused by his own grief to notice as he took her arm and together they mounted the wide stone steps.

A somber faced butler opened the great wooden door before Lord James could pull the bell. Symonds came down the main staircase to meet them. Looking visibly upset, he grasped Emma by the hands and said in a relieved voice. "I'm glad you've come, my lady."

Emma nodded, unable to speak. With Lord James and Symonds, she went up the wide staircase. Symonds opened the bedroom door and waited for Emma to enter the huge bedchamber.

She paused on the threshold, feeling panic. She couldn't bear to see him. He was laughing and beautiful a few hours ago. She forced herself to enter.

The room was lit by a lamp standing on a table by the bed. It shone onto the face of the unconscious Desborough.

She went quickly to the bed and rested her hand against his forehead.

"He has a high fever," Symonds said. "The surgeon had to dig deep to remove the bullet. He hurt his lordship greatly. He left medicine for his lordship to take to ease the pain and bring down the fever. He's supposed to take a dose of the elixir every three hours but how can we give it to him when he's insensible."

"Soon enough for that when he regains consciousness. We must try to bring the fever down with cold compresses." Emma rested her hand against Desborough's burning forehead again. "If we don't, I fear the fever will burn him up."

"I'll bring towels and cold water," Symonds said.

Emma removed the lamp from the bedside table so its light didn't shine directly into Desborough's face, and set it down on a chest further away, and took all the pillows but one from beneath his head.

Symonds and the valet returned, carrying towels and ewers of water. Symonds tore the towels into strips. Emma wet a length of toweling in a bowl of cold water and wrung it out and placed it on Desborough's forehead. "He's so hot," she said as she sponged his bare chest above the constricting bandage where a patch of red showed. "But we can do no more than this. If he's to have a chance, we must bring down the fever."

They took it in turns to change the towels. No one spoke of their dread that he might not live till morning. Lord James tried to persuade Emma to retire to the bedroom, Desborough's housekeeper had prepared for her. 

She refused, saying she would rest in the armchair by the bed. It was a fitful sleep. She would burst into consciousness to look at him, fearing he had died while she slept.

As the first light of dawn entered the room, she awoke suddenly and jumped to her feet. Desborough lay quiet in the great bed. She rung out a cloth to replace the one on his forehead. Symonds appeared beside her. "I'll go down to the kitchens and make some tea, my lady," he whispered. 

The secretary's movements had disturbed Lord James. He sprang to his feet and hurried to the bed. "How is he?" 

"Still the same," Symonds said.

Emma began to shudder. She put a hand to her mouth and bit hard as she tried to control her sobs.

Lord James put an arm around her and held her close. "There, there, my dear, I do think Nick is a little easier."

She could only nod. She touched Desborough's hot dry hand lying limply upon the coverlet, seeking reassurance.

Symonds returned with a tray of tea and toasted rolls. "The kitchen staff have kept the fire going, my lady," he said in reply when Emma remarked he hadn't been away long. "Mrs. Adams made the tea and toasted the rolls."

"How good of Mrs. Adams."

"She's concerned about his lordship. He's a well-liked master."

They ate the rolls and drank the tea by the big window away from Desborough's bed. Lord James glanced hopefully towards him as the first rays of the morning sun shone weakly into the room. "He looks a little easier, don't you think, Symonds."

"Maybe, my lord."

"You have the best surgeon?" Lord James asked Symonds.

"The best in London. Money couldn't buy better. It's up to his lordship now. He's strong, but he's lost a lot of blood." 

Symonds was talking, slipping naturally into calling Emma, my lady. "The surgeon has arranged for a nurse to attend to his lordship, my lady."

When Emma saw the large untidy woman, she would have none of her. "We will nurse his lordship ourselves," she told Symonds. 

Symonds evidently agreed. He looked relieved as he went to dismiss the woman and pay her for her trouble.

When the surgeon arrived, he was surprised to see the beautiful young woman, though Symonds had informed him when receiving him in the hall that Lady Desborough was with her husband.

When Symonds explained her ladyship had dismissed the nurse, the surgeon only nodded, saying one was lucky to get a good woman to nurse. The relatives usually performed that task. The surgeon hadn't known his lordship was married but he was a busy man and didn't concern himself with the doings of society. The beautiful young woman receiving him with her obvious good sense and worried eyes didn't look like one of his lordship's light o'loves. He was pleased to see the fever had diminished a little. Last night he wouldn't have given twopence for his lordship's chances of surviving till morning but his lordship was by no means out of danger. If he didn't succumb from losing too much blood, there was still the hurdle of infection. If he managed to survive that, he might make a tolerable recovery. Still, the fever must take its course. He had patients dying every day but it would be a pity if his lordship died. He was a man who evidently had everything, including a beautiful young wife. The surgeon glanced at Emma. "A dose of the elixir when he wakes," he said briskly as he closed his bag. "He'll be in pain. When he's able to take nourishment, start him off with a little thin gruel." He wouldn't examine the wound. "It's better left for the present, my lady. Removing the bandage will only start the bleeding again." As to Emma's concern about his lordship's unconsciousness, he brushed that aside with. "Nature is doing her healing work."

After the surgeon had left, Mrs. Adams came into the bedroom with Symonds. "I've prepared a bed in the room next to his lordship, my lady. Mr. Symonds and I would like you to rest a few hours."

"I must stay with his lordship in case he needs me."

"We'll wake you if there's any change in his lordship, my lady," Symonds persuaded.

"You can't continue without sleep, my lady," the housekeeper insisted as she took Emma's arm.

Emma suddenly remembered her aunt. "Lady Matilda! She doesn't know I'm here."

"Lord James is at Lady Matilda's now," the secretary said.

Emma followed Mrs. Adams into the bedroom. "No, I won't undress," she told her. She thought she wouldn't sleep but as soon as she closed her eyes, she fell into a dreamless slumber.

She awoke as suddenly as she had fallen asleep, wondering for those first moments where she was. Jumping to her feet, she ran to the door, wrenching it open and rushing to Desborough's room. She stood by the closed door; afraid he had died while she slept. She shouldn't have allowed them to persuade her to leave him. Gathering courage, she opened the door and paused on the threshold.

Lord James, who was seated by the bed, rose when he saw her. "He's still unconscious," he said in answer to her unspoken question.

She came into the room and stood by the bed. A dark shadow of a beard had appeared on Desborough's face, making him look thin and drawn. "He doesn't seem so feverish." She held her hand against his flushed face.

"He might be a little better," Lord James agreed. "I wish he would wake. It doesn't seem natural for him just to lie there."

"Perhaps it's just as well. He'll be in pain when he does."

Lord James glanced at her. "Did you have a good sleep?"

She nodded. "I’m all the better for it. What did you say to my aunt?"

"I explained as much as I thought she needed to know."

"She must be upset?"

Lord James was silent a moment. "It's only to be expected. She sends her regrets about Nick's condition and said to give you her love."

"I'd go to my aunt, but..." Emma glanced at the unconscious Desborough. 

"Lady Matilda wished to return with me, but I persuaded her to wait until tomorrow."

Emma was relieved. An upset and reproachful Lady Matilda would be more than she could cope with. She glanced at Lord James and saw how weary he looked. "You haven't slept at all, have you? Mrs. Adams will make a bedchamber available for you."

Lord James demurred, saying he might be needed when Desborough awoke but Emma was adamant. "If there's any change I'll let you know immediately. You won't be any help to his lordship if you collapse when he awakes." 

Reluctantly, Lord James was persuaded. 

Emma sat in the armchair beside the bed. As if acknowledging her presence, Desborough opened his eyes and gazed unseeingly at her. He groaned, and lapsed into unconsciousness again. When Symonds arrived, Emma told him what had happened.

"He must be regaining consciousness." Without asking permission, Symonds drew up a chair to the bed, saying, "I'll sit with him in case he wakes again, my lady." He opened the book he had brought with him. Emma dozed intermittently, each time waking to the still unconscious form of his lordship and the silent reading Symonds.

Everyone was wearing black. There were crowds of people. They filled the hallways and passageways of Desborough house. She glanced out of the window. There seemed no end to the crowds. 

She came to with a start. Lord James stood beside her. "I'm sorry I woke you," he apologized.

"I'm glad you did." She still trembled from the nightmare. She told Lord James of Desborough's fleeting return to consciousness.

"It must be a good sign."

"Maybe." Superstitiously she wouldn't let herself believe he would live.

Lord James glanced to where Symonds sat. "Get some rest, man. I'm sure you've had less than any of us."

The secretary sat still a moment. "I'd prefer to stay, my lord."

Emma said quickly. "You must if you want to, Mr. Symonds. I'm sure Lord James was thinking only of your welfare." 

Desborough came to his senses after Symonds had lit the lamps in the darkened room. He opened his eyes, gasping with pain as he tried to turn on his side. Symonds and Lord James rushed to him and held him, telling him to lie still. Emma poured a dose of the elixir. Symonds placed an arm about Desborough's shoulders and lifted him as Emma held the glass to his lips. "Try to drink," she said. "It will help ease the pain." 

He managed to swallow, groaning as Symonds lowered him back onto the pillow.

With a damp towel, Emma sponged his face and bare chest where some of the elixir had spilled.

His eyes were closed and his mouth taut with pain. The effort of taking the elixir had exhausted him. Suddenly, he asked with his eyes still closed, "What are you doing here, Emma?" 

"Looking after you." She didn't know whether he had heard or not. She touched his forehead. It felt hot and dry.

His eyes opened and his glance flickered up at her.

"Are you comfortable?" she asked as she replaced the towel on his forehead.

"Yes." A few minutes later, he asked, "Is Symonds here?"

"Yes, my lord." Symonds moved closer to the bed so Desborough could see him.

"I want you to place the announcement of my marriage in the Gazette, Symonds."

Emma said quickly. "My lord, you're ill. Surely it can wait until you're stronger?"

"Nicholas." He was irritated. "Call me by my name. I've asked you often enough." He continued to Symonds. "I don't wish charges to be laid against Lady Stanaway. I wish it to be known that I accidentally shot myself." The effort of speaking had exhausted him. He closed his eyes and drifted into sleep. 

When Emma arrived in Desborough's bedchamber the next morning, she found his valet about to begin shaving him. "Surely that can wait until you're stronger." 

"Nick will feel more the thing," said Lord James who waited beside the valet to see if he could be of assistance. Even the taciturn Symonds agreed.

"I think it's foolish," Emma said. "No one will care how Lord Desborough looks."

"I care," Desborough said.

She looked at him severely. "All I can say is, I didn't realize how vain you were."

The valet looked shocked.

Emma moved away as she said to Symonds, "His lordship should rest and conserve his strength. The surgeon will be here soon enough to disturb him."

She was right in thinking the surgeon's visit would exhaust him. The examination was painful and several times Desborough gasped aloud. Emma's nails bit into the palms of her hands.

The surgeon said as he finished dressing the wound and expertly bound the bandage about Desborough's chest. "The wound appears to be healing cleanly enough."

Under his direction, Emma and the valet gave Desborough another dose of the elixir. Within minutes he had slipped into sleep.

As the surgeon packed his bag, he said to Emma. "He's a healthy specimen. With luck he should survive."

She couldn't stop the relief from flooding her face.

The surgeon looked sharply at her. "His recovery isn't absolute certainty, you understand. There's always the risk of infection, but I give him a better chance than when I took the bullet from him. See that he takes plenty of water. He can have broth and milky custards to sustain him if he desires it."

Later that afternoon, Lady Matilda arrived. Emma wept as Lady Matilda put her arms around her and hugged her. 

"Now, now, my dear." Lady Matilda led her niece to a sofa where they sat together. "Tell me, how does his lordship? Lord James says he's making progress."

Emma nodded. Trying to be calm, she said, "He seems a little better." She told her aunt about the marriage.

Lady Matilda listened without commenting, then said. "Richard will know how to deal with it. We must wait until he returns."

"I've tried to persuade Nicholas to do that but he's already sent the notice of the marriage to the Gazette."

Though Lady Matilda felt a little less distressed by the news that Desborough was prepared to officially announce his marriage, it was with a heavy heart that she returned to Langridge House. She hadn't told Emma about the rumors and innuendoes running rife in the great salons of London.

Poor Ellie Louden had arrived at Langridge House and fearfully told her friend about the gossip circulating that Letitia Stanaway had shot Desborough, and then escaped to the continent with Sir Humphrey Balshaw. "There's so much gossip about Emma's residence at Desborough House too. Oh, my dear," she said to the distraught Lady Matilda. "Is there anything I can do?" She looked as visibly upset as Lady Matilda.

Lady Matilda shook her head and proceeded to tell Ellie Louden what Lord James had told her about Emma and Desborough's marriage.

"Then all is well." Ellie Louden looked relieved.

"I don't know." Lady Matilda was wretched.

"Emma is now the Marchioness of Desborough," Ellie Louden reminded her.

"Will society accept such a marriage?" Lady Matilda blanched at the thought of her niece living on the fringe of society. 

"It will depend on how Desborough treats his marchioness."

Lady Matilda could only concur. If Desborough behaved towards Emma with respect, something might be salvaged from the ruin, but how could one expect it from a man who had set society ablaze with his recklessness and scandals and it was with anxiousness she waited the return of Richard Napier.

That evening, Desborough drank some of the broth, which Mrs. Adams had prepared. Emma thought he looked a little better and tentatively suggested. "Why don't you cancel the announcement of the marriage and wait until you're stronger?"

His smile was faint. "So you can argue and threaten me out of it? No. Under the circumstances, I can't wait until the return of your brother as I'd planned." 

Richard Napier returned to England eight days later. Lady Matilda spent the first hour of his arrival, telling him of his sister's ruin and blaming him for it by keeping Emma locked away in the country.

Richard Napier was a man who projected an easy confident manner. "I'm sure there's not too much to be concerned about," he told Lady Matilda as he took his leave of her.

When he arrived at Desborough House, his manner was of a man paying a social call rather than a brother trying to prevent his sister's ruin. He kissed Emma warmly and told her she looked a little peaky. After being introduced to Desborough, he said he would like to talk to his lordship alone. He quieted Emma's concern, with. "I give my word; I'll not upset his lordship."

He stayed closeted with Desborough for half an hour before emerging, looking pleased with himself. "I think you may come out of this tolerably well," he told Emma as they returned to Desborough's bedroom. "Your husband is a reasonable man and sensible of the social niceties."

For a moment, Emma felt some of the old rage. "What if I don't wish to be married?"

Richard Napier looked disconcerted. Even he was pleased that his sister had snared one of the biggest catches in England.

Emma glanced towards Desborough. Her brother's visit had exhausted him. She would only weary him more if she protested against the marriage, which she now knew was inevitable. "Never mind, Richard. I'll enjoy being Lady Desborough and spending his lordship's money. You'll soon see how big a splash I'll make in London."

Richard Napier glanced towards his lordship who gazed at Emma with a faint smile. They understood each other, he thought, and he was confident of Emma's happiness. "Now you're married, Emma, you're in a good position to act as my hostess."

"I thought in the circumstances that would be the last thing you'd want of me, Richard."

"Nonsense, my girl. Acting as my hostess will be the perfect way of introducing you into society as Lady Desborough."

Richard Napier wasn't the consummate diplomat for nothing. Society accepted Emma's new role and any gossiping was done quietly in back parlors. 

Dressed to attend a dinner party, Emma called into Desborough's bedchamber before she left. That afternoon, he had insisted on rising from his bed and though weak, refused all efforts to have him return. "Should you still be up?" Emma asked as she came into the room.

"I'm sick of bed." He was petulant. "I seem to have spent a lifetime there. There's always James, Symonds, your brother, Lady Matilda, Abby and Adrian, Florence and Oliver Pollitt, and the servants, not to mention the endless visitors who call to see how I am. I never see you alone."

She smiled at his ill humor. He wasn't proving to be a good patient. She sat on the sofa beside him. "You're an ungrateful wretch. If you're not careful, you won't be strong enough to attend Abby's wedding next week."

He ignored her playfulness. "I thought they weren't getting married until next month?"

"Adrian wanted it brought forward and our dresses are ready. I'm matron of honor now instead of bridesmaid." She looked wry. "Abby insisted that I still be one of the wedding party. So there was no reason why the marriage shouldn't be earlier, though Aunt Matilda and Mr. Derries protested against it."

"Weren't they the ones who wanted the marriage?"

"Aunt Matilda had to reorganize the reception though Florence did most of it for her and Mr. Derries doesn't want to lose Abby."

"I thought he wanted her to marry Adrian?"

"He does but he wants her home as well."

"When are Florence and Oliver Pollitt going to marry?"

"They haven't announced their engagement yet," Emma began to tell him when he suddenly became impatient. 

"Can't you stay home tonight? Surely Lady Matilda can act as Richard's hostess in your place?"

"Richard considers being his hostess is invaluable in resurrecting my good name."

He scowled. "I suppose I must be thankful to your brother."

"Yes, you should."

"Do you hate me so much for causing all this embarrassment for you?"

"I don't hate you. As Richard says, there will soon be another scandal to replace ours."

"Be serious for once. All you've done since you've been here is to humor me." 

She suddenly felt angry with him. "You wanted to make me your mistress."

"I did have that thought when I married you. You're very beautiful and like no other woman I'd met before. When I discovered you weren't a servant girl, I canceled the annulment."

She was shocked. "Why?"

"You were all I wanted in a wife."

"What about me?" Emma's voice was almost a wail. "I could have hated you."

"I think you did in the beginning." He was unsmiling. "I was waiting for the return of your brother so I could publicly announce our marriage. In that way, I hoped to overcome any ostracism by the society mamas." He took her hands and kissed them. "I'm a selfish man as you already know but believe me when I say it would pain me to live without you." 

"What about Letitia Stanaway? What did you intend your relationship to be with her?"

"That affair was finished when I met you at Lady Lindsay's ball."

"She loves you."

"Does she? Is that why she shot me?"

"Oh, Nicholas, I'll never forgive her for that. You nearly died."

He grimaced. "I owe more to my name than to make a trollop like that the Marchioness of Desborough. Balshaw will be better for her than I'd ever be. James has heard they're in Italy. Balshaw will give into Letitia’s every whim." 

"Didn't you love her?" Emma whispered.

"No. I thought she understood our arrangement. I was surprised when she arrived here, demanding that I marry her now she was a widow."

"But how could you..." Her voice trailed off.

"How could I sleep with her without loving her?" His voice was cold. "She was beautiful and willing. What else could a man wish for in a lover?"

"You behaved despicably."

He was sardonic. "I am what I am. That's how you'll have to accept me. I love you very much. Believe me when I say I haven't said I love you to another woman." He lifted her hands and turned the palms upwards, examining her wrists. "They have healed." He sounded surprised. "Have I been ill that long?" He bent and kissed the palm of each hand. His lips felt dry and his face was dark and drawn. He drew her into his arms and kissed her, bending his head and kissing her breasts at the top of the low cut gown. 

"It's too soon," she whispered as she cradled his head against her. "You're not strong enough to act the husband."

"Aren't I?" There was a hint of his former mockery in his voice. He looked at her. "I love you."

"And I love you."

He pushed her back on the cushions and kissed her passionately. "I promise, you'll never regret our marriage." He pulled her dress down and caressed her breasts with his lips. "Stay with me tonight."

A burning tremor went through her. There was a knock on the door. She hastily arranged her dress and moved away from him, before calling, "Enter."

The valet came in. "The carriage is waiting, my lady."

"Thank you, Stevens. I'll only be a moment."

He bowed, and closed the door. 

"So you're leaving me?" Desborough looked frustrated. 

"I must, my love. Richard expects me." She kissed him lightly on the cheek. "I'll be back tonight." She smiled at him before closing the door behind her.

It was done. She straightened her shoulders. She wouldn't think about tomorrow. It was enough that today she had all she wanted.