Candice Hern (23 page)

Later that evening Robert was again reminded of the afternoon's conversation when he and the Windhurst ladies arrived at Lady Lichfield's rout. The musicale had been every bit as excruciating as Robert had anticipated—with the frequent shrill exclamations of Lady Windhurst vying with the soprano's caterwauling— and so he was already in an ill-humored mood when they arrived at the bustling rout. Almost the first sight to meet his eyes was that of Faversham in earnest conversation with Emily. His hand was at her elbow, and he was steering her to a somewhat secluded area of the crowded drawing room protected by a large Chinese screen. Emily was frowning and shaking her head. What the devil was that cur saying to her?

Robert made an impulsive move toward the Chinese screen when he felt Augusta's hand tighten on his arm. He looked down into pale blue questioning eyes and suddenly felt like the world's worst cad. In his anger and frustration at the sight of Emily and Faversham together he had actually forgotten all about Augusta. Poor Augusta. He realized he had been treating her rather shabbily. It was not her fault that Emily was in the clutches of a scoundrel and that Robert felt somehow compelled to rescue her. But he couldn't do that just now. He really must give some attention to his betrothed. He placed his hand over Augusta's and smiled down at her.

"Shall we search out our hostess and pay our respects?" he asked.

"Of course," she said, letting out the breath Robert suddenly realized she had been holding. She returned his smile, and he once again felt as low as the ground.

He forged a path through the crowd and glanced once again toward the Chinese screen. He was surprised to see Lord Sedgewick—eyes crinkled almost shut as he flashed the famous grin—chatting comfortably with Emily and Faversham. So, Sedge had done the deed for him. Emily was smiling, he noticed, as they came upon Lady Lichfield, and his attention was diverted.

Robert did his best to act the proper escort to Augusta for the rest of the evening, keeping her arm on his and introducing her to those of his acquaintances who were unknown to her. He couldn't help it if, when someone engaged Augusta in conversation, his eyes roamed the room in search of Emily. He simply wanted to make sure that Faversham wasn't annoying her. He meant no disrespect to Augusta, despite the thunderous looks she tossed at him more than a few times. She simply didn't understand, and he was in no mood to enlighten her.

Robert was watching Emily as she spoke once again with Sedgewick when a hand grabbed his shoulder and a familiar voice whispered in his ear. "In case you have failed to notice, Bradleigh, your beautiful fiancée has abandoned you in favor of young Haselmere."

Robert turned and smiled at his friend Lord Jack Raeburn. The younger son of a marquess, he was known throughout the
ton
as Black Jack, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was his coal black hair. He had no more than a year on Robert, but his harsh, angular features made him appear older.

"Hallo, Jack," said Robert as he glanced toward Augusta, who was chatting amicably with his cousin Ted. "You know, I have never known Ted to pop up so often at Society events. I seem to be tripping over him at every turn these days."

"Indeed," said Jack, arching a brow. "'Tis a mystery, I'm sure."

"At least he is useful in entertaining Augusta from time to time. I tell you. Jack, it's a trial having to dance constant attendance on one's future bride."

"I warned you, Rob. This betrothal business was an idiotic notion."

"Yes, I seem to recall you told me so once or twice. But I have my reasons, as you know, and I truly believe the marriage will work out just fine. If I can only survive the betrothal."

"You won't survive the fury of the lovely Augusta if you can't keep your eyes off the golden beauty with Sedge. Who is she?"

Robert's eyes strayed back to Emily and Sedge. "My grandmother's companion," he said. "Miss Emily Townsend."

"Your grandmother's companion?" Jack's eyebrows raised with interest. "That beautiful creature is residing under your roof, Bradleigh? And you never told me?" He raked Emily with a gaze that was nothing short of a naked caress. Robert suddenly wanted to plant his friend a facer.

"Forget it, Jack," he snarled.

"So. Sedge has your approval whereas I do not," Jack said in that blood-chilling tone he often used to such advantage.

"She's a lady, Jack. Granddaughter of an earl. Pentwick's niece, if you can believe it."

"You're joking!" Jack's momentary anger was replaced by intense curiosity.

Robert shook his head.

"That means Faversham must be her cousin," Jack said. "I had noticed him buzzing around her hive. Well, this is most interesting, Rob. But where does Sedge fit in?"

"I'm not sure. He seems genuinely interested in her."

"And that bothers you?"

"Of course not," Robert snapped, "as long as he's serious. Emily would never countenance a dalliance. Besides, Grandmother would have his head."

"The beautiful Augusta will surely have your head, or more likely your horns, if you're not careful. If you will drag your eyes from the blonde for five minutes you will see your betrothed flirting outrageously with Haselmere."

Robert turned his attention once again to Augusta. "As I said before, Jack, I am happy for Ted to take her off my hands now and then. I tell you, it ain't easy being engaged."

"Look again, Rob. The puppy's besotted with her."

"Ted? Besotted? I don't believe it. He hasn't been out much. He's just susceptible to a little flirtation from a pretty young girl."

"If you say so," Jack said, grinning.

Robert watched in fascination as Ted actually took Augusta's hand to his lips.

Chapter 16

Emily's eyes strayed once again from the scrawled pages in front of her. She couldn't seem to concentrate on these latest chapters sent by Sir Percy Whittaker for her opinion. Whereas once the adventures of Sir Percy's damsels in distress had amused and entertained her, she found her thoughts more often than not drifting toward the events in her own life. Emily smiled as she realized that this was the first time she could remember when her own life held more interest for her than that of some gothic heroine.

She had certainly been kept busy. The last few weeks had found Emily's days occupied with plans for the engagement ball. The dowager knew exactly what she wanted in order for the affair to be a highlight of the Season, and Emily was charged with the overall organization. She had interviewed musicians, linen drapers, furniture rental agents, and carpenters. Five different florists were consulted before one was found who agreed to provide all that the dowager required.

"But, my lady," Emily had pleaded, "it will be prohibitively expensive. Are you absolutely certain—"

"Gammon!" the dowager had said with a decidedly Gallic flick of her fingers. "It is of no consequence. I know what I want and I shall have it."

Never altogether comfortable with such a cavalier attitude toward expense, Emily had given a disparaging cluck and gone on to other items on her employer's list.

At least she needn't worry about hiring a caterer. Anatole and Mrs. Dawson had both flown up into the boughs over such a suggestion, claiming that with a few additions to the kitchen staff they could manage very well. The two chefs had developed the complete menu, which was approved without modification by the dowager.

If Emily's days were filled with ball preparations, her evenings had been no less busy. The dowager insisted on Emily's company on every occasion. They had attended routs, balls, soirees, musicales, suppers, and card parties. Emily smiled as she considered the seemingly indefatigable constitution of her elderly employer. The dowager apparently thrived on the constant social whirl of the London Season. More than once she had told Emily that she might consider coming to Town more often, since Bath was such a bore these days.

Emily looked down at the pages in her lap. Perhaps Sir Percy should come to Town more often as well, she thought. His weepy, helpless heroines had definitely begun to bore her. Besides, there was quite enough excitement in Town without the need to escape into tales of dungeons and haunted castles and mysterious murders. If she were Sir Percy, Emily thought, she would pen tales of modern heroes and heroines set in the drawing rooms of London. Perhaps she would recommend the idea to him in her next letter.

If she were the heroine of such a tale, she knew precisely how she would model the villain. It would have to be her cousin Hugh, Lord Faversham. Her brow furrowed at the mere thought of him. Truly, he had been the only blot on an otherwise thoroughly enjoyable time.

At almost every gathering, Emily was sure to be approached by her cousin. Although perpetually charming, his constant attendance had become an annoyance. He also called frequently in the afternoons and sent large bouquets of flowers several times a week. Despite his repeatedly expressed good intentions, Emily was becoming heartily sick of the man. Besides, something about him made her feel uncomfortable, and she simply could not like him.

But who, then, should be the hero of her London tale? Lord Bradleigh? He was certainly handsome enough. Of course, he had actually rescued her that time at the Rutland ball. But, no. He was Miss Windhurst's hero, not her own. She must choose another.

Her other two most constant admirers, Lord Sedgewick and Mr. Hamilton, had also continued to shower Emily with attention, though with considerably less obsequiousness than her cousin. She continued to enjoy both gentlemen's company, until Mr. Hamilton's enforced departure to his Norfolk estate gave Lord Sedgewick a decided edge.

Knowing Emily had never before been to Town, he had often taken her to popular amusements, attractions, and galleries. Just yesterday she had accompanied Lord Sedgewick and his sister, Mrs. Ingram, on a visit to the Tower of London. Emily had been fascinated by the armories, the weaponry collections, the Bloody Tower, Traitor's Gate, and the charming Norman chapel inside the White Tower. She had been less impressed by the Crown Jewels, which had inexplicably left her cold. She had been visibly distressed as well when viewing the menagerie with its collection of pitiful, mangy-looking creatures, including an ancient elephant and a sad-eyed bear.

"How I would love to set the poor things free," she had muttered.

Lord Sedgewick had patted her hand, resting on his arm, and smiled. "They would probably not stir an inch, even if you were to fling the gates wide." He had then taken her chin in his hand and looked deeply into her eyes. "You have a tender heart, my dear. Perhaps you will soon have a more worthy object for your affections."

Emily had been unsettled by the comment, which had been spoken in a low voice out of the hearing of Mrs. Ingram. Before she could react, his face had broken into a wide grin, and his eyes had all but crinkled shut. She could never resist that grin and found herself unconsciously smiling in return.

She did not mistake his meaning. He had spent a great deal of time in her company and yesterday had made a special point of bringing along his only sister, whom he obviously held in great affection. It was clear, at least to Emily, that she was to be the object of Mrs. Ingram's inspection and that Lord Sedgewick sought his sister's approval. Fortunately Emily had taken an immediate liking to Mrs. Ingram, who was much less gregarious than her brother, but very friendly and pleasant nonetheless. The three of them had spent a very comfortable afternoon together.

When Lord Sedgewick had escorted her to the door of Bradleigh House, he had taken her hand to his lips and held it just a bit longer than was absolutely proper.

"I hope you have enjoyed the afternoon," he had said.

"Indeed, I did my lord. How fortunate we are to have so much history, right here in the heart of London. It is most humbling."

"Ah, dear lady," he said, still holding her hand, "you humble me. You have caused me to see much of our city through fresh eyes. I have never so enjoyed touring our local attractions."

"And I thank you for taking the time to show them to me." She discreetly retrieved her hand, conscious of Claypool's presence behind her, holding open the door. "Thank you as well for introducing me to Mrs. Ingram."

"You liked her?"

"Very much."

"I'm glad. I'm very fond of her and I was hoping you would like her. I know she liked you, too." He flashed a grin. "I trust in time you two will become bosom friends. Almost like sisters, you might say."

Emily had felt the heat of a blush color her face and had quickly made her way into the house. It was impossible to ignore the implication of Lord Sedgewick's comments. Emily felt sure he was going to offer for her. She was less sure of her own feelings. Would she accept?

A page floated unnoticed from Emily's lap to the floor. Should she accept? She was fond enough of Lord Sedgewick. She enjoyed his company, his conversation, his grin. But when he had kissed her hand yesterday, there had been no warm, tingling sensation running up her arm and down her back—the sort of sensation she felt whenever Robert touched her, or, truth be told, whenever he so much as looked at her.

But, no, she would not compare Lord Sedgewick to Lord Bradleigh. Lord Sedgewick was a wonderful man, and she would be foolish to overlook his advantages in favor of something that could never be. No, she would not be such a widgeon.

She retrieved the page that had fallen to the floor and found its proper place among the rest. As she stacked the pages neatly, she determined that Lord Sedgewick would indeed be the hero of her London tale. But for now, she must concentrate on the perils of Sir Percy's gothic heroine.

She gave a sigh and continued to read.

* * *

This had all been his idea, so if he was less than pleased, it was his own fault. When Robert had suggested to his grandmother that he might host a small party in his box at the Opera, she had latched on to the idea with enthusiasm. It had been her idea to include Sedge.

"For Emily's sake," she had said.