Splendid

by Julia Quinn

  “He does, does he?”

  “Yes, he does. He thinks that they should talk more.” Belle looked at Alex hopefully. He didn’t believe a word she was saying and she knew it. Still, she didn’t think he’d heard them discussing him, and for that she was blessedly thankful. Unable to think of anything else to say, she gave Alex what she was sure must be a rather weak smile.

  “My mother has ordered me to ask you to dance, Belle,” Alex said frankly, grinning and ignoring her obvious distress.

  “Goodness,” Belle replied, “I had no idea that my popularity had sunk so low that men had to be forced by their mamas to ask me to dance.”

  “You needn’t worry. My mother is simply trying to get rid of me so that she and my sister can arrange my life without my interference.”

  “Plotting your marriage, I imagine,” Dunford surmised.

  “No doubt.”

  “To Emma.”

  “No doubt.”

  “You might as well just give in and ask her.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.” Alex took Belle’s arm and prepared to lead her out onto the dance floor. “After all, I’m not the marrying kind.”

  “Well,” Belle declared sharply, “neither is she!”

  Back in the side hallway, Emma had landed on the floor in an undignified tangle. Someone had left the side door open, but no candles had been lit in the hallway. As a result, Emma had not seen the doorway until she was right on top of it. She didn’t even try to stifle a groan as she slowly rose to her feet, twisting her neck and limbs to stretch out her aching joints. Absently rubbing her sore backside, she found herself fervently wishing that the Lindworthys had thought to lay down a carpet in the hall.

  “You know,” she muttered, continuing the conversation she’d begun with herself in the garden, “it’s fairly clear that Alexander Ridgely is a danger to your health, and you should endeavor to keep far away from him.”

  “I heartily agree.”

  Emma whirled around in shock and found herself facing an elegantly dressed, sandy-haired man in his late twenties. She recognized him immediately as Anthony Woodside, Viscount Benton.

  Emma groaned inwardly. She had met Woodside during the first few weeks of the season and had disliked him instantly. He had been dangling after Belle for over a year and would not leave her alone, despite her obvious efforts to put him off. Emma had tried her hardest to avoid him at subsequent affairs, but oftentimes she simply could not escape a polite dance. There was nothing overtly offensive about him; his manners were nothing if not correct, and he was obviously intelligent. Emma’s low regard for him was a reaction to far more subtle aspects of his character. The tone of his voice, the way he looked at her, the tilt of his head when he surveyed a ballroom—all of this somehow managed to make Emma feel extremely uneasy in his presence. He was a strange man, outwardly courteous to her but at the same time somewhat disdainful of the fact that she was American and did not possess a title. To top it off, Alex seemed to hold him in extremely low regard.

  So Emma naturally was not overjoyed to find him facing her in the Lindworthys’ hallway. “Good evening, milord,” she said politely, trying to brush over the obvious fact that she was quite alone, far from the party, and had just literally fallen into the hallway from the garden. She prayed that he had not seen her sprawled on the floor, but one look at his sardonic smile told her that she was not so blessed.

  “I trust you are not injured from your fall.”

  Emma was exceedingly annoyed to note that he spoke those words to her bosom. She was acutely uncomfortable and longed to tug her dress up, but she would not give the obnoxious viscount the satisfaction of realizing that he unnerved her. “Thank you for your concern, milord,” she said through gritted teeth. “But I assure you that I am perfectly fine. If you’ll excuse me, however, I really must be getting back to the party. My family will be missing me.” Emma started to leave, but he quickly grabbed her upper arm. His grip was not painful, nor was it cruel, but Woodside held her firmly, making it abundantly clear that he did not intend for her to leave anytime soon.

  “My dear Miss Dunster,” he said smoothly, his silky voice belying his iron grip on her arm. “I find myself intrigued by your presence in a deserted hallway just now.”

  Emma said nothing.

  Woodside’s grip tightened slightly. “No sharp comeback, Miss Dunster? Where is that famous wit of yours?”

  “My wit is reserved for my friends,” she replied icily.

  “And your family?”

  Emma blinked, unsure of what to make of that comment.

  “I have a feeling, Miss Dunster, that you and I will soon be much closer than mere friends.”

  He let go of her arm abruptly, and Emma snatched it back. “If you think that I would deign to—”

  Woodside let out a sharp laugh at the hot determination of her voice. “Really, Miss Dunster, I would not flatter myself so, were I you. I grant that you are attractive, but you do lack the breeding that I require in a woman.”

  Emma took a step back, wondering if he was speaking about her or a horse.

  “I am a Woodside. We may tumble gaudy-haired Americans, but we certainly do not marry them.”

  Emma’s free hand shot up to slap his face, but he blocked her blow before it connected.

  “Now, now, Miss Dunster, it wouldn’t do for you to antagonize me. After all, once I am married to your cousin, I can easily forbid her to associate with you.”

  Emma laughed in his face. “You think Belle will marry you? She can hardly bear to dance with you.”

  Woodside tighted his hold on her wrists until Emma could not help but wince from the pain. Her distress pleased him, and his pale eyes glittered dangerously in the dim light of the hallway. Emma lifted her chin stubbornly, and he abruptly let her go, causing her to stumble back a few steps.

  “You shouldn’t waste your time with Ashbourne, my dear. He’d never marry the likes of you.” With that, Woodside laughed, executed a smart bow, and disappeared into the darkness.

  Emma rubbed her sore wrists, slightly disconcerted by the encounter. She couldn’t remain in the hallway all night, however, and so she started quietly opening and closing doors, searching for a washroom. After about five tries, she found one and scooted inside, shutting the heavy door behind her. A candle had been left burning inside a lantern, dimly lighting the small chamber. Emma groaned as she surveyed the damage in a looking glass. She was a complete mess. She quickly decided that she lacked the necessary skill to fix her hairstyle, so she pulled out all of her hairpins and left them on the counter, figuring the Lindworthys could think whatever they pleased when they found the pile the next day. She picked up the emerald-studded clasp that had originally held her topknot in place and used it to secure the front of her hair on the top of her head, allowing a few fiery tendrils to curl softly about her face.

  “That ought to do,” she breathed. “Hopefully no one will notice that I’ve changed the style. I wear it like this most of the time anyway.”

  A quick check of her dress revealed that while a few blades of grass had stuck to her hem, no permanent damage had been done. She plucked off the grass and left the blades on the counter with her hairpins. All the more mystery for the Lindworthys to enjoy the next day, she decided, consoling herself with the idea that she might be making her hosts’ lives a little more interesting. She scanned her hem for any more errant blades but finally gave up, figuring that if she missed any, at least her gown was green. It was more important than ever that no one suspect her whereabouts. It would not be so dreadful if it were whispered that she had been alone with Alex. But if anyone realized that she had been alone with Woodside— that, she could not bear. She still couldn’t believe he actually thought Belle would marry him. That must have been what he meant when he said they would someday be more than friends. Emma shivered with distaste, trying to put Woodside out of her mind.

  She put her hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath to regain her compo
sure. Her slippers were undeniably wet, but there was really very little she could do about that, so she stepped back into the dark hallway, hoping she could navigate her way back without further mishap.

  When she returned to the noisy ballroom, she poked her head in, anxiously scanning the faces until her gaze fell upon Belle. Emma had never felt more relieved. A more careful scrutiny, however, revealed that Belle was accompanied by Alex and Dunford, and Emma resigned herself to the fact that she was not going to be able to talk to Belle in private. After about thirty seconds of making bizarre hand gestures and praying that nobody saw her, she finally caught her cousin’s eye, and Belle came scurrying over, the two men close at her heels.

  “Where have you been?” Belle asked urgently. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “I was otherwise occupied,” Emma commented dryly, her eyes resting meaningfully on Alex’s face. Belle did not miss the silent interchange, and she also turned to Alex, hands on hips.

  “Good Lord,” Dunford drawled. “I feel extremely fortunate that I am not on the receiving end of so many scowls.”

  “I wasn’t scowling,” Emma replied, shooting Dunford a look that came dangerously close to a scowl. “I was merely giving him a pointed look. At any rate, it’s all over and done with and not very important.”

  Alex studied her face, thinking to himself that it was, indeed, very important, and furthermore, it was far from over and done with.

  “The point is,” Emma said, turning to Belle and directing her comments quietly to her, “that I’ve changed my mind, and I don’t feel like getting into an argument with Uncle Henry and Aunt Caroline about the dress.” Not to mention Alex.

  “Good idea,” Belle agreed.

  Emma turned back to the two men. “If the two of you would go fetch my shawl, I’d be most appreciative.”

  “Don’t see why it takes two grown men to get a shawl,” Dunford pondered.

  “Dunford,” Belle said determinedly. “Will you please just go?”

  Dunford muttered something about hostile blondes, but he dutifully crossed the ballroom to fetch Emma’s shawl. And after a fair amount of subtle hints and downright nagging, Alex was persuaded to join him. They returned just in time, for it was only moments after Emma had wrapped the fabric around her pale shoulders when Lady Worth suddenly appeared, a wide smile brightening her features.

  “I have marvelous news,” she said, turning to the two young women. “Eugenia has invited us all out to Westonbirt for a short holiday.” She tilted her head slightly so that she could address Alex. “Isn’t that marvelous?”

  “Marvelous,” he replied with a tight smile, unable to decide whether he wanted to thank his mother or throttle her.

  Caroline turned quickly back to Belle and Emma. “Henry has a headache, and I’m afraid that we are going to have to make our excuses immediately.” She looked back up at Alex and Dunford. “I’m terribly sorry, but I’m sure you understand…” Before either man could reply, Caroline had whisked her two charges away, and within minutes, the entire Blydon family was ensconced in their carriage.

  Chapter 10

  Seated in the plush carriage, Emma began to replay the past few minutes in her mind and decided that her aunt was acting a trifle strangely—she had certainly never before witnessed such a hasty excursion from a ballroom. She was afraid, however, that Caroline’s odd behavior might be a result of her having seen Emma disappear out into the garden with Alex. Emma wisely decided not to mention anything and sat back, waiting for someone else to make conversation.

  Belle soon filled the gap. “I can’t believe that the dowager just invited us all out to the country on the spur of the moment. Well, maybe I can believe it,” she said, looking pointedly at Emma.

  Emma looked pointedly away from Belle.

  “I am sure we shall all have a marvelous time,” Caroline declared firmly. “Eugenia was particularly hoping to spend some time with the two of you,” she added, motioning to her daughter and niece.

  “I’m sure she was,” Ned drawled, winking at Emma.

  It was fairly obvious that everyone understood the real reason for the outing.

  “Also, Sophie has been missing her husband dreadfully,” Caroline added. “Eugenia and I both thought that she would enjoy some feminine company, especially with her baby coming soon.” She turned back to her son, not wanting to give anyone a chance to point out that Sophie’s baby was not coming for another five months and that furthermore, her condition had very little to do with Eugenia’s motives. “You’re invited too, of course. Will you come, Ned?”

  “I think I’ll pass,” Ned replied with a wicked grin. “It’s much easier to debauch myself when my parents are gone.”

  Caroline looked somewhat shocked.

  Ned only laughed. “It’s hard to establish a rake’s reputation in the company of one’s mother.”

  “Really, Ned, if you must indulge yourself in such ways, there will be plenty of time after you finish school and move into your bachelor’s lodgings.”

  “No time like the present.”

  “What are you going to do while we’re gone?” Belle asked eagerly.

  He leaned forward with a twinkle in his eye. “Lots and lots of things you shouldn’t even think about.”

  “Really? What—”

  “Isn’t it a blessing,” Caroline cut in loudly, eager to change the course of the conversation, “that we have the opportunity to retire to the country for a short while with the Ridgelys, where, without the censorious eyes of London upon us, we can relax our standards of behavior. Somewhat.” The carriage came to a halt in front of the Blydon mansion, and, with the aid of her husband, she disembarked and hurried up the front steps and into the foyer.

  Emma lost no time in catching up with her aunt. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” she said in a loud whisper.

  Caroline paused for a moment. “Of course you know what I’m doing.” She patted her niece on the cheek. “Just as I know what you’re doing.”

  Emma’s mouth fell open as she stared at her aunt in dismay.

  “You were wise, my dear, to put that shawl back on.” With that, she swept up the stairs and into her bedroom.

  The Blydons and the Ridgelys left for the country the following weekend, and much to Alex’s extreme irritation, he was not able to arrange affairs so that he and Emma could have a private coach on the trip to Westonbirt. He couldn’t even manage to get them into the same carriage. Much as Eugenia was yearning for some kind of compromising situation (which would hopefully lead to a wedding with all possible haste), she couldn’t quite bring herself to do anything that might lead to such an incident taking place in a moving vehicle.

  So Alex grumbled—and not terribly good-naturedly—as he climbed into the Blydons’ coach alongside Henry, Caroline, and his mother, who had declared that the young people should have a carriage of their own so that they could have some fun without their stodgy elders.

  “Young people!” Alex had exclaimed. “For God’s sake, Sophie’s expecting her second child!” And then he muttered something that Eugenia could not quite understand, although she did think she heard the word “stodgy.”

  “Well,” declared Eugenia, “I daresay we won’t all be old. I asked Charlie to ride with us.”

  At which point the young boy leapt into his uncle’s arms, insisting that they practice their card games along the journey.

  Emma, whose feelings had been fluctuating between secretly hoping for a carriage alone with Alex and kicking herself for entertaining such a thought, was nonetheless pleased at the prospect of three or four hours of conversation and gossip with Belle and Sophie. They first went through all the young unmarried ladies of the ton, animatedly dissecting their characters, and when they were done, they started in on the unmarried men. At that point, they were only a little more than halfway to their destination, so they turned to the spicier topic of married ladies and gentlemen. They had begun discussing the various dowager
s when Sophie finally declared that they were nearly at Westonbirt. Emma was more than a little relieved. Quite frankly, she was gossiped out.

  Alex had told her that he’d spent most of his childhood years at Westonbirt, the ancestral seat of his family, and Emma was intensely curious about the place where he had grown up. So when the carriage rounded a corner and headed through the front gates of the estate, Emma could not restrain herself from craning her neck to see as much of the landscape as possible. The carriage, however, was not an open one, so she had to resign herself to pressing her face up against the glass windows.

  “For goodness sake, Emma, one would think you’d never seen a tree before,” Belle commented.

  Emma immediately sat back into the plush seat, instantly embarrassed about her overly curious behavior. “Well, I do so like the country, you know, and after three months in London, I certainly feel like I’ve never seen a tree before.”

  Sophie laughed softly. “I assure you we have plenty of trees here at Westonbirt. Good climbing ones, too. And there is also a rather picturesque stream which Alex assures me is full of trout, although I don’t remember his ever bringing any home to dinner.”

  Just then the wheels of the carriage ground to a halt, and a liveried footman rushed out to open the door. Emma was the last to alight, so she didn’t get a very good view of Westonbirt until she finally escaped the confines of the carriage. She was not disappointed. Westonbirt was a stately old mansion that defied the word “huge.” Built during the 1500s under the reign of Elizabeth I, its floor plan was in the form of the letter E to honor the queen. The front of the house, which faced north, was the stem of the E, with three wings jutting out in back. Row upon row of tall, thin, sparkling clean windows danced across the facade, and Emma guessed that the building must be at least four or five stories tall. As she stepped closer, she was able to inspect some of the fine craftsmanship of the mansion. Each window and doorway was bordered by exquisite stone carvings that bespoke of hours of painstaking work on the part of long-gone artisans. Emma was awed by the grace and dignity of the Ashbourne ancestral home.