Lady Emma's Dilemma (9781101573662) (23 page)

Now, as she continued to ride at a fast clip, she felt heartsick at exchanging such harsh words with her beloved grandmother.

Even so, she still had no intention of going to Longdown.

Feeling her temper cooling, she reined Titus slightly, but still let him run. Although she felt a certain amount of relief that she would soon be returning to the familiar routine of her life in Yorkshire, there was a heavy weight in her heart that forced tears to her eyes—but they were not completely caused by her argument with Grandmère.

“I got over him before. I'll get over him again,” she said aloud, and Titus twitched his ears in response to the torment in her voice.

Just then, she caught sight of a shiny red gig being pulled by two white ponies a short distance away.

“Not again,” she said through gritted teeth as the driver vigorously waved in her direction.

Reflexively, she slowed Titus to a trot and watched in dismay as Mrs. Willoughby waved even more vigorously, practically falling out of the little conveyance in her efforts to gain Emma's attention.

With a gusty sigh, Emma turned Titus toward the gig. Lord knew if she did not, Mrs. Willoughby would likely chase her down.

“Good morning, Mrs. Willoughby. We really must stop meeting this way,” she said as she rode up next to the beautiful courtesan.

Mrs. Willoughby gazed up at her from beneath a bonnet trimmed in gathers of pink ribbon. Even from her perch on the horse, Emma could see that there were dark circles under her finely tilted eyes.

“I was hoping that I would find you riding this morning. In fact, I have come early for the last three mornings looking for you. It's been most inconvenient.”

Emma suppressed a laugh. Despite Mrs. Willoughby's ill-mannered behavior, Emma was surprised to find that she could not take her into complete dislike. Perhaps it was because there was something rather artless about her outrageousness, Emma mused.

“Forgive me for not being clairvoyant,” Emma said, but there was no sting in her tone.

“Oh, never mind,” Mrs. Willoughby said, alighting from the gig. “Are you going to get off that beast so that I can speak to you, or must I crane my neck?”

Emma instantly recanted her charitable thoughts. “I don't believe I will stay after all. Good day.”

Mrs. Willoughby put up a staying hand. “I'm sorry. Don't be annoyed. You are annoyed, are you not? It is hard to tell because you always sound so dashed polite.”

Emma hesitated. After her row with Grandmère she was in no humor to listen to Mrs. Willoughby accuse her of trying to steal Lord Monteford from her again.

“Please stay, your ladyship. There is something important I must speak to you about.”

Emma gazed down at the younger woman and saw the look of urgent pleading in her gaze. Shrugging, she said, “All right then, but I have only a few moments.”

She meant it, for she wanted to return to the townhouse and smooth everything over with Grandmère—as long as the iron-willed old lady did not continue to pressure her about going to the races.

After dismounting from Titus, they walked to the little clump of trees where they had talked before. Emma waited impatiently as Mrs. Willoughby paced upon the grass, her soft pink gown and pelisse giving her an innocent appearance.

“I might as well just say it. Monteford and I have parted ways.”

At this blunt statement, Emma raised a brow and said, “I do not know why you would think that I care.” Actually, she did wonder what became of mistresses under such circumstances. She could not imagine that Mrs. Willoughby had enough money to support herself in the manner she so obviously was accustomed to.

Mrs. Willoughby bit her lip. “That is not really the reason I hailed you. You see, his grandfather is being
wretchedly tightfisted and has cut Monteford off without a farthing until he finds a wife with plump pockets.”

“So?” Emma was beginning to lose what little patience she had.

“You mustn't judge him too harshly because he has grown rather desperate in the last few days. You see, he cannot pay his bootmaker and—”

“Mrs. Willoughby, would you please get to the reason you insisted upon speaking to me?”

“All right, all right. I have always had a certain regard for Devruex and would hate to see him hurt—”

“What does Devruex have to do with this?” Emma blurted in sudden alarm.

Mrs. Willoughby put a hand on her hip. “If you will stop interrupting me, I will tell you. Yesterday, Monteford had one of his men take a packet of money to the jockey who will be riding Devruex's horse in the Severly race that is taking place today.”

Emma frowned. “A packet of money? Whatever for?

“You are rather green, aren't you?” Mrs. Willoughby said with a snort. “To bribe him, that's why. Monteford is desperate for blunt and is betting that the horse will lose. He wants to make sure that is exactly what happens.”

Emma felt not only shocked, but bewildered. “Bribe the jockey? But you must be mistaken. Monteford is a cad, but I cannot imagine that he would be so dishonorable.”

“I told you, he is quite distraught. He's rather spoiled, you know. Besides, he's grown to hate Devruex of late. Devruex left Town yesterday, so I could not tell him about the packet. I thought you would be going to the races and could warn Devruex. Maybe there will be enough time to switch jockeys.”

Emma's thoughts were spinning with the possible ramifications of what she just heard. “Good heavens, I can hardly countenance what you are saying.”

Spurred by this devastating news, she grabbed her trailing
hem and whirled toward Titus, when a sudden thought had her tossing a question to Mrs. Willoughby. “Why tell me?”

She knew without question that Mrs. Willoughby held her in great dislike, so this gesture was quite inexplicable.

The younger woman lifted her shoulders in a brief shrug. “When we spoke before, I said that you could not know what it was like to struggle. You told me that I knew nothing of your life.” She turned her gaze away, and suddenly looked almost shy. “Well, something about the way you said it made me think that you were not such a toffee nose after all.”

Their gazes met for an instant. The completely unexpected feeling of understanding that passed between them had Emma smiling warmly as she reached for her horse's bridle.

It took a couple of tries, but Emma soon managed to get herself back on Titus. Swinging the horse around, she looked down at Mrs. Willoughby. “Thank you for telling me this. May I ask what you intend to do now that you and Lord Monteford are no longer, er, keeping company?”

A beautiful smile came to Mrs. Willoughby's perfectly formed lips. “Not to worry, my lady. The Earl of Edge-brooke and I are already in negotiations. So far, I am most impressed with his generosity. And he has promised to teach me how to drive a proper carriage.”

Shaking her head wryly at Mrs. Willoughby's resilience, Emma could not resist asking a question that had crossed her mind once or twice before.

“May I be so impertinent as to ask what Mr. Willoughby thinks about … all this?”

Mrs. Willoughby sent her a cheeky grin. “Gracious me!

There is no Mr. Willoughby. I gave myself a husband because it sounds more respectable.”

“W
e must reach Longdown before the race starts at two o'clock,” Emma stated as a groom helped her into the open barouche.

The coachman, a big man who wore his livery with obvious pride, jumped up to the seat and took the ribbons. “Not to worry, m'lady. This team is the best we got. All four are well rested and ready to run,” he said as the groom scrambled up next to him.

The slight frown creasing her brow cleared a little at this reassurance. Settling next to her grandmother against the soft leather squabs, she said, “Thank you, Richards,” just as the carriage took off with a jerk.

As they rolled down the quiet lane beneath the midday sun, Grandmère sent her an encouraging smile. “We have a good two hours and these meets never start on time.”

“I am depending on it,” Emma said as they turned onto a busier thoroughfare.

However, her anxiety grew as they came upon a bottle-neck of carriages turning onto Park Lane.

“I should not have taken the time to change clothes,” she said as she craned her neck to get a better look at the confusion in front of them. A liveried postilion, his white wig askew, was struggling to gain control over a team of six horses while nearby coachmen and grooms shouted abuse upon him.

“Don't be silly. A habit is a most inconvenient garment
anywhere but atop a horse. Besides, you must look your best today.”

Emma shifted her gaze to her grandmother, who looked fresh and lovely in an ensemble of jonquil yellow and cream silk. Her bonnet was quite the most beribboned thing Emma had seen since coming to London.

“What I wear is of little interest to me,” Emma said, glancing down at the fitted lavender bombazine pelisse she wore over an ice blue gown.

When Emma had returned to the townhouse after her encounter with the intriguing Mrs. Willoughby, Milton had been surprisingly quick with producing the fashionable garments—for Emma had previously directed that a simpler traveling costume be readied for the trip to Yorkshire. Evidently, her grandmother had not given up and continued to collude with the maid to convince Emma to go to Longdown.

Setting aside her concern over Jack, Emma smiled as she recalled Grandmère's reaction at being told Emma now wanted to go to the races.

Grandmère's expression had changed from firm-jawed and militant to shocked and speechless as Emma ran up the stairs, tossing the most important details over her shoulder.

Now, as her grandmother chatted happily next to her—enormously pleased that she had won her way—the carriage circumnavigated the tangle of coaches and entered the turnpike heading south. Soon, they left the noise and congestion of London for green hills and pastures that seemed to stretch to the horizon. Richards, handling the ribbons with expert ease, gave the horses their heads.

Although the sun shone brightly, a few fat, bubbling clouds in the distance caused Emma a fleeting moment of worry. Her brows knit in a slight frown as she watched the clouds above the passing trees.

It would be too horrible not to reach the Duke and Duchess of Severly's estate in time to warn Jack about Monteford's scandalously dishonorable action. With her
heart racing as the horses' hooves clopped along the road, she gripped the side of the carriage tightly to prevent herself from shouting to Richards to hurry.

She thought about the importance of this day to Jack, for the Jack Devruex she had known so long ago could only have dreamed about owning a horse good enough to have a chance at winning such an important race.

She had known, even at the green age of eighteen, that his desire to build a successful stud was wrapped up in the shame he felt at his father's infamous squandering of the family fortune.

And somehow, she thought with a poignant sense of pride, despite all the obstacles he had undoubtedly faced, he had managed to become a nonpareil in the rarified atmosphere of horseracing. What better way to restore his honor than to triumph at the sport of kings?

Leaning forward slightly, she willed the horses to run faster. As the driver expertly tooled the team around a slower, closed coach, she relaxed slightly and sat back again.

She could not allow his dream—everything he had obviously worked so hard to achieve—to be destroyed in this nefarious way.

Suddenly, she wished she had not protested when Jack had challenged Monteford to a duel.

“Don't worry, my dear. Richards is a true knight of the ribbons. We shall be there in no time.”

Emma sent a tremulous smile to her grandmother and relaxed her grip. “I am sure we will. It is just that it would be so dreadfully unfair if Jack lost because his rider was bribed.”

Scowling, Grandmère shook her head. “Tell me in detail what that wretched woman told you.”

As Emma recounted the particulars of her conversation with Mrs. Willoughby, Grandmère clucked and murmured.

“And you believe her?” she asked when Emma had finished.

“Oh, yes. In her demeanor, her expression, there was every evidence of honesty. Even if I did not believe her, I could not set aside the possibility that her tale was true. I would never forgive myself if Jack lost when I could have warned him.”

The carriage swayed as Grandmère reached over and placed her hand on Emma's. “I am so happy, Emma.”

Instantly, at the dewy look in the old lady's eyes warning bells went off in Emma's head. “Grandmère, I do not want to even hazard a guess as to what you are thinking. The only reason I am going to Longdown is to warn Lord Devruex.”

With a snort, Grandmère sent her a knowing look. “Lord Devruex? A moment ago it was Jack.”

Feeling anxiety at her uncharacteristic lapse of propriety, Emma opened her mouth to protest, but Grandmère's raised hand halted her words.

“I shall not say another word. We shall be there within the hour and you can tell Devruex about Monteford's shocking ploy and then we can all enjoy this lovely afternoon.”

Suddenly, as if in defiance of her grandmother's declaration, a cloud moved in front of the sun and dimmed the brightness of the day. Glancing up, Emma watched in dismay as the clouds—only an hour ago so white and fluffy in the distance—hung low and dark in a clump almost directly above their heads.

“Oh, no,” Emma said in dismay.

Richards and the young groom next to him also noticed the threatening sky. “Your grace, looks as if we might be in for a spring shower. Should I pull over and fold up the top, or take a chance that we can outrun it?”

“We cannot stop!” Emma said before Grandmère could answer. A low rumble of thunder had her grandmother looking at her askance.

“But, my dear, the weather looks quite threatening. Let
us stop for ten minutes. We will get soaked if we do not fold up the top. I am sure the shower will pass quickly.”