A Proper Companion (27 page)

"Why was that never done?" Robert asked, looking up
from the parchment, his eyes narrowed in suppressed fury. "Why has
she been left to barely scrape by, to be forced to work for a
living?"

Huntspill cleared his throat nervously. "Well, my
lord, Mr. Chalmers says that the old earl, who was quite ill and
knew he hadn't long to live, was frantic to locate his
granddaughter before he died. It became something of an obsession
with him. He sent his son to find her. Apparently the search was
not successful. The son, according to Chalmers, claims that she had
disappeared without a trace shortly after her father's death. The
old earl died within a few weeks, at which time Chalmers retired.
He claims to have had no further dealings with the family and had
no idea what had become of the money or the search for the
granddaughter."

"And Pentwick?" The chill in Robert's voice caused
Huntspill to noticeably wince.

"Yes, well," he said, "it seems Lord Pentwick, who
was, of course. Viscount Faversham at that time, had been living on
expectations for some time. He had racked up an impressive number
of debts. He made good on them all after his father's death. Since
then he seems to have lived fairly close to the edge. Gambles quite
freely. Horses mostly. He's been known to drop a bundle on a single
race, but always seems to come through."

"That bastard!" Robert slammed his fist down on the
desk with such force that papers went flying in all directions, and
Huntspill fell against the back of his chair. Robert rose from the
desk and began pacing the room. "Pentwick's been living off
Emily's—off Miss Townsend's marriage settlement, hasn't he?"

"I... er... don't know that for certain—"

"Of course he has! It all makes sense now." A stab
of fiery rage, sharp and bright as a new blade, tore at his gut.
"By God, I'll kill the bastard!"

"M-my lord," Huntspill stammered, "I don't
think—"

"I'm going to see him, James. Right now! I'll have
him know his treachery is no longer a secret. Miss Townsend shall
not suffer another day from his deceit." He turned and headed
toward the library door, flinging it open. "Claypool!" he
bellowed.

"Perhaps it would be best to wait, my lord."
Huntspill rose to follow after Robert. "You're much too agitated to
confront the man now. You might say or do something you'll
regret."

Claypool arrived at the library door. "Yes, my
lord?"

"Have my curricle brought round," Robert said. "And
ask Luckett to bring down my hat and gloves. I'll be going
out."

"Yes, my lord," said Claypool, bowing crisply. He
turned at once to do as he was asked.

"I'm sorry, James." Robert forced a smile. "But this
is something I must do. It won't help to wait. Pentwick must be
stopped now. Today."

Robert had been so miserable after what had happened
last night that he felt he owed this to Emily. He could never marry
her, not so long as he was honor-bound to marry Augusta. But he
loved her and he wanted to do this for her.

"Then let me come with you, my lord."

Robert's smile widened. "You think you can keep me
in check, James? Make sure I don't do something stupid?"

Huntspill shrugged and smiled weakly.

"Ha!" Robert clapped him on the back. "Come along,
then. You have my permission to stop me from actually killing the
blackguard. But I take leave to draw his cork, if it comes to
that."

* * *

The ballroom of Bradleigh House was a scene of mass
confusion as the final preparations for tonight's ball took place.
Carpenters and painters put the finishing touches on the special
dais for the orchestra. The linen draper's workmen were busily
tacking up deep swags of blue satin all along the walls. The
florist's workers arranged boxed topiaries in a prescribed pattern
throughout the huge room, creating separate areas for seating and
private conversation. Cartloads of flowers had been delivered and
were being arranged in enormous assortments between the topiaries,
in front of the orchestra dais, and along the walls. Rented chairs
and benches were being brought in and placed at Emily's direction.
Maids and footmen, many hired especially for the occasion, were
setting up the buffet tables.

Somehow Emily had been able to keep things running
smoothly, as she stood in the center of the room giving directions
to all and sundry. She had been downstairs since the early morning
to receive the first deliveries. She had somehow become the
director of this production, as everyone seemed to come to her for
assistance. Mrs. Claypool was kept busy getting the rest of the
house ready, and so Emily was happy to supervise the ballroom
activities.

She was glad to be so thoroughly occupied. It kept
her mind off the unsettling events of last evening. It kept her
mind off Robert, his blistering kiss, and her own wanton
response.

Emily still had no idea how she had let such a thing
happen. She knew it had been wrong to stay in the library alone
with him, dressed only in her nightclothes. But she had done it.
She knew that she should never have given in to the irresistible
temptation to smooth back that boyish lock of hair. But she had
done so. She knew that she should never have allowed him to kiss
her. But she had done that, too. She was certain she should never
have kissed him back with such abandon. But, God help her, she
could no more have stopped herself from responding to his kiss than
she could have held back the tide.

It was only when she felt his hand on her breast
that she realized the enormity of what they were doing. He had no
business kissing her. He was betrothed to Miss Windhurst. All this
hustle and busde around her was in honor of their engagement. The
man really had no business kissing her.

Of course, she couldn't blame the incident entirely
on Robert. She could have pulled away when he had taken her in his
arms, but he had looked so incredibly attractive in his
dishevelment that she had been drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
She had wanted him with a desire she had never before experienced.
She had looked into those seductive brown eyes and was lost.

When she had fled to her bedchamber she had thrown
herself face down on the bed and sobbed. She cried for the love
that could never be, for the kisses she could never again enjoy,
for the arms that could never again hold her. How was it that when,
for the first time in her life, the future was actually looking
bright—a perfectly wonderful man appeared ready to offer her
marriage— that it could also seem the most bleak?

She had fallen in love with Robert. Emily finally
admitted that to herself. She loved him, though she realized he
could not possibly love her. He had merely given in to a momentary
weakness brought on by too much wine. She loved him but she could
never have him, and so she must simply resolve to go on with her
life. She would accept Lord Sedgewick, if he offered for her, and
would forget about Robert eventually. The pain would finally
recede, and she would survive. Of course, that would be difficult,
since Robert and Lord Sedgewick were such close friends and were
likely to see much of each other. She would simply learn to cope.
She was very good at coping.

Emily was giving directions to a footman with a gilt
bench when she saw the dowager approach. The old woman looked
wide-eyed with alarm as she took in all the activity.

"Good God, my girl, how will it possibly be ready in
time?"

Emily smiled. "Don't worry, my lady. It is all
really quite organized. Everything ordered has been delivered, and
now it is just a matter of putting it all together. It will be
ready with time to spare."

"Ah, Emily, my dear, you are indeed a treasure. I
know how hard you've been working. I don't know what I would have
done without you." As she spoke she reached up to adjust one of
Emily's hairpins that had come loose, her hand brushing away a
stray wisp of hair from Emily's cheek.

Emily closed her eyes for an instant and caught her
breath as she was reminded of Robert's hand in her hair last
night.

"Poor dear," the dowager said. "You must be
exhausted. I insist that you take time for a rest before dinner.
You must look your best tonight, you know. This could be your lucky
night." She winked and grinned, causing Emily to laugh out
loud.

"I'm sure to be finished here in plenty of time,"
Emily said. "I confess, however, that I cannot vouch for any
progress in the kitchen. I haven't had time to check on that
work."

The dowager shuddered. "You can be sure that I shall
go nowhere near Anatole until sometime late tomorrow at the
earliest. He is a veritable dragon on such occasions. And from what
I hear, Mrs. Dawson is no shrinking violet, either. No, no. I shall
not go near the kitchen, and neither should you. Leave it to Mrs.
Claypool. She will see to it that everything is as it should
be."

A young maid came up a bobbed a curtsy. "Excuse me,
miss, but a gentleman what says he's with the orchestra wants to
inspect the bandstand."

* * *

"I'm terribly sorry, but his lordship is not at
home." The haughty butler at Lord Pentwick's Curzon Street town
house glared at Robert and Huntspill.

"Then we'll wait," Robert said as he pushed his way
past the startled man.

"I beg your pardon, sir!" The butler's face had
grown pink with outrage.

"I said," Robert pronounced in a loud voice, "that
we will wait. I assure you, Lord Pentwick will receive me. Where is
his study? I shall await him there."

"Look here, sir," the butler said, attempting to
restrain Robert, "you cannot—"

"What's going on, Metcalf?" Lord Pentwick roared as
he descended the stairs. "Good lord," he said as he stopped midway
down. "Bradleigh?"

'Tell your butler to unhand me, Pentwick. I would
have a word with you."

The earl sneered. "I don't believe we have anything
to say to one another, Bradleigh. Show him out, Metcalf." He turned
to go back up the stairs.

"Then I shall have no choice," Robert said in a
loud, clear voice, hoping all the world would hear, "but to notify
Bow Street of your theft of your niece's fortune."

Lord Pentwick's back stiffened, and he slowly turned
to face Robert. They locked eyes for a moment, taking each other's
measure, before Lord Pentwick again descended the stairs. "Come to
my study, Bradleigh. I would hear what lies you are spreading."

Robert followed him, with Huntspill close behind.
They entered the study, where the earl took a seat behind his desk,
and Robert and Huntspill took chairs facing him. Robert introduced
Huntspill, then proceeded to tell Lord Pentwick what they had
discovered, but not how they had discovered it.

"You can't prove a thing," Pentwick said when Robert
had finished speaking. His lips curled into a sneer as he
continued. "My father's will was made years before he died and left
everything to me. He didn't care this much,"—he snapped his
fingers—"for his so-called granddaughter."

Robert nodded to Huntspill, who opened his satchel
and retrieved a document, which he handed to Robert. "I don't
suppose you've ever seen this before?" He held the old earl's will
close enough for Pentwick to see, but without relinquishing it.

The blood drained from Pentwick's face. "My God." He
dropped his head into his hands. "My God."

Robert remained silent while Pentwick absorbed the
inescapable reality of the situation. He surely must understand
that his position was untenable.

Pentwick at last removed trembling hands from his
face and slowly rose from the chair. He walked to the fireplace
where he braced himself with both arms against the mantel and hung
his head down.

"Mr. Huntspill,'' Robert said, "acting on behalf of
Miss Townsend, will see to it that the proper funds are transferred
to Miss Townsend at once. With this will as evidence, he can go
directly to your banker and put a hold on the funds. Unless you
prefer to avoid the embarrassment and make out a draft
yourself?"

Pentwick made a small choking sound and shook his
bowed head vigorously. "No! No! No! You can't do this!" He raised
his head and turned slightly so that only one arm was braced
against the mantel. His back to Robert, he began breathing heavily,
his chest heaving. "It's mine," he said, speaking more to himself
than to Robert. "I can't let that slut's daughter get her hands on
my fortune. It's mine! It belongs to me." He swallowed
convulsively, then began to speak in a muttered voice, as though no
one else was in the room. "I was so careful. I made so sure that
she would never marry."

Robert leaped from his chair, bounded across the
room, and grabbed Pentwick by the collar with both hands, forcing
his head up to look him in the eye. His voice was a barely
controlled snarl. "What do you mean, that you made sure she would
never marry?"

When Pentwick only stared back, failing to respond,
Robert shook him forcefully by the collar. "Explain, yourself,
Pentwick!"

"It was nothing. I meant nothing," he said in a
raspy voice while trying to shake himself from Robert's grip. "I
only hoped that she would never marry, that's all."

Robert tightened his hold on Pentwick's collar with
his left hand, held him back a bit, and landed a fierce blow to the
jaw with his right. Pentwick crumpled to the floor with a groan.
Moving with the quick grace of a panther, Robert dropped to the
floor, grabbed Pentwick's right arm and flipped him onto his
stomach. Straddling him, Robert twisted the arm behind Pentwick's
back, immobilizing him, while he forced the man's face into the
carpet with a hand to the back of his head.

"I will have the truth, Pentwick," Robert demanded
through bared teeth. "Now!"

Pentwick began to whimper. "All right, all right,
I'll tell you." His voice was breathless and muffled against the
carpet. "Just get off me, for God's sake."