by Tarah Scott
“I beg your pardon?”
He contained a grimace. Apparently, he enjoyed making himself miserable. “Let me take you for a carriage ride tomorrow afternoon. A few turns about the park. You can meet a greater variety of gentlemen. He can’t have cowed every man in Edinburgh.”
She smiled up at him, too sweet and too young for any man he knew. Why, with her only just completing finishing school, he must have seven or so years on her.
“Well, he hasn’t cowed you,” she said. “So certainly, he can’t have intimidated every man in the city, and yes, a carriage ride would be lovely, thank you.”
Robert nodded. Her cheerful smile and innocent compliments lightened his mood. She was right. A carriage ride would be lovely. Because he and Cinthia used to take them almost daily didn’t mean he could never enjoy one again.
He parted ways with Miss Glasbarr in the front hall. She fell in with a stream of young women headed above stairs. Once she was out of sight, Robert exited into the Edinburgh evening to await his carriage. Miss Glasbarr’s smile lingered in his mind and evoked one of his own.
Robert paced the curb in the cool night air, in no mood to speak with the other gentlemen waiting for their carriages. He’d had enough of the lot of them for one evening. Watching Miss Glasbarr dance with so many eligible, yet wholly unworthy, men had soured the sociable side of his nature.
He would not misconstrue his protectiveness as affection, however. She was beautiful, kind and sweet, but that didn’t mean he was drawn to her. He had to exorcise Cinthia from heart and mind before he flung himself impulsively at another girl. He wouldn’t repeat the mistake he’d made with Kitty.
His carriage pulled up, the stately, four-horse one he generally used when he attended society events, not the open curricle he would use tomorrow to take Miss Glasbarr around the park. Robert frowned. Every stray thought shouldn’t lead back to her.
“Where to, sir?” his coachman asked.
“My club.” Robert climbed in.
The carriage moved slowly until they finally broke free of the crush of traffic leaving Lady Peddington’s School. When the vehicle lurched into a faster pace, he leaned back against the cushion and watched the bright square of light that entered, crossed and left his carriage at each passing streetlamp. Each time the lamplight glinted off the gold threaded cord that tied back the window curtains, he was reminded of Miss Glasbarr’s curls. When they reached his club, he disembarked, annoyed by a journey that had only emphasized his inability to put her from his mind. He stomped up the four steps and entered the elegant, three-story structure with a frown.
Once at his usual table, he sent for a glass of whisky. He awaited the solace the smooth liquor offered with impatience but somehow, when the glass arrived, the dark liquor didn’t seem worth drinking. Idly, he turned the tumbler in his hand and stared into the russet depths. If he angled the cut crystal the right way, the surface of the whisky caught the candlelight and gleamed the color of her hair.
“Very well, Banbrook, what will it take to make you go away?”
Robert looked up as Dunreid pulled out the chair across from him and settled into the cushioned seat.
“Your presence is enough.” Robert set his glass down and stood.
“For God’s sake, sit down,” Dunreid said, tone friendly. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself.”
“You’re the one who posed the question.” Robert didn’t bother to conceal his animosity as he looked down at Dunreid. “I’m simply giving an honest answer.”
The viscount scowled, neck craned backward to look up. He stood, and placed his stocky form between Robert and the rest of the room. “I want that girl, Banbrook. You don’t.”
“I might.”
Dunreid snorted. “What happened to your honesty? The world knows you’re still pining for my wife.”
Robert’s hands balled at his sides. The muscles in his arm twitched. He longed for the satisfaction of burying his fist in Dunreid’s fleshy face.
“I’ll ask again, nicely, for old times’ sake.” Dunreid’s voice was low, but still convivial. “What will it take for you to go away? You should accept something, because I’ll have her in the end, either way.”
“I’m not a horse trader and she is not a mare at market,” Robert said, echoing Miss Glasbarr’s words.
Dunreid shrugged. “She may as well be.”
Robert answered that with a glower.
Face bright with an evil glee, Dunreid leaned closer. “You can’t be bought, I know. You’re even wealthier than I am, but I have one thing you want. What about a trade? One night with Cinthia for a go at the lass. I’ll give her back when I’m done. I’m sure you’re used to other men’s—”
Robert swung. Dunreid dodged the punch. Hi fist plunged into Robert’s middle. The air drove from his lungs. Pain doubled him over. Dunreid’s rasping breath penetrated the blood surging in his ears. Robert straightened and loosed a wild punch. His fist connected with something solid.
“Bloody hell.” Dunreid fell back several paces.
Men closed in around them. Voices rose. Hands fastened on Robert’s shoulders, though he made no move to pursue the viscount. He blinked tears of fury from his vision and yanked against the men’s hold.
Dunreid collapsed into a chair, one hand clutched to his left eye. With the right, he glared at Robert. “You bastard. This will blacken. What am I supposed to tell Cinthia?”
“That’s not my concern,” Robert bit out. “Use whatever lies you normally tell your wife.”
He shook off the hands and tugged his jacket straight. He turned and cast a glare around the room, lest anyone decide to avenge Dunreid. Most of the assembled gentlemen had adopted neutral expressions, though some looked amused.
Several large footmen crowded the far doorway, eyeing him. The club’s proprietor kept them on hand, for there was no fighting permitted. Robert offered the footmen a grimace of apology and strode toward the exit.
Chapter Five
AT THE APPROACH OF footsteps, Emilia looked up from the sketch on which she worked. Seated in the inner courtyard of the school, she sought to capture the soaring oak that grew in the center. She’d done so many times, but never failed to see something new in the arching branches. She hoped, should she be fortunate enough to find a husband, he would have a garden even half as lovely as the school’s.
Quick steps brought the approaching maid, Mary, to stand before her. The girl bobbed a curtsey. She proffered a wrapped package. “Miss, this arrived for you. There’s no note saying who from, so we thought it best to accept it.” She darted a glance about the courtyard, but they were alone. “I was told to remind you, though, that accepting letters or gifts from gentlemen to whom you are not related, engaged or wed is against school policy.”
Emilia took the package with a twinge of trepidation. “I am very much aware of that, thank you. I wish I could say I’m not violating that policy, but I haven’t any notion who this is from.”
Mary shrugged. A grin dimpled her cheeks, giving her an innocence Emilia didn’t quite trust. Mary was Lady Peddington’s favorite and a consummate spy for the headmistress. “What’s wrapped in there doesn’t matter really, Miss. So long as you don’t make a scandal for the school, no one cares much.”
Emilia smiled, for Mary likely meant well. Emilia cared, though. She didn’t want to accept packages from men. Especially from a certain man. The small wrapped parcel was there now, though, so she hadn’t much choice. “Thank you.”
Mary offered the package a lingering look, obviously disappointed at being dismissed before the paper was removed. Emilia kept a bland, pleasant expression until the maid turned and walked away. She was never comfortable with dismissing servants, and couldn’t bring herself to order them to leave. At home, they’d only two footmen, two maids, a cook and a house keeper. The six lived with them and had for as long as Emilia could recall. They were more family than staff.
Once alone, she drew off the paper. A note lay
tucked beside a small box embossed with a jeweler’s mark she didn’t recognize, not that she knew many. The placement was clever, for a note on top may very well have been opened by the zealous staff, but they wouldn’t unwrap the package. Unease making her fingers clumsy, Emilia unfolded the message.
Consider this but a glimpse of my generosity, and a thank you for services you shall one day render. That slender neck of yours shouldn’t go unadorned. - VD
Emilia grimaced. She looked down at the box in distaste. Did she even wish to open it?
An inspection of the note revealed no address, no way to send the gift back. She stared at the box, this present which, if discovered, would tarnish her reputation, perhaps beyond repair. Open or not, whatever was inside was in her keeping until she could figure out a way to rid herself of it. She lifted the lid.
A pendant lay on black velvet. The accompanying chain looked too delicate to bear the weight of the monstrosity. Gold, diamonds, sapphires and rubies winked at her. The stones themselves were lovely, but the conglomeration overdone to the point of distastefulness. She snapped the lid closed, wishing she dared curse like some of the other country bred girls she knew.
With quick hands, she gathered her work, then tucked the note and box in with her drawing tools. The message she could burn. The despicable pendant she would have to hide. Perhaps she could make an excuse to visit the more expensive shopping districts. If she could glimpse the jeweler’s marks in a shop, she could determine where to divest herself of the monstrosity.
She was halfway across the yard when Mary reappeared. The girl hurried toward Emilia, leaving little doubt she was the goal. Mary curtsied when they met near the entrance to the school. Nervous fingers smoothed her uniform.
“Miss, you’ve a caller.” Mary’s tone held an odd note.
“At this time of day?” Emilia squinted upward. “The hour cannae be much past noon.” When Mister Banbrook said afternoon, she assumed a time much later.
“The visitor is a viscountess, Lady Cinthia.”
Emilia recognized the note in Mary’s voice now, mingled worry and awe. She didn’t share the maid’s reverence, but did appreciate her apprehension. The name twisted a knot in Emilia’s gut. Viscount Dunreid’s wife coming to call could not be good.
She pursed her lips. To carry her sketchbook and satchel of drawing tools into an audience with the viscountess would be unseemly. She could hardly ask Mary to take them to her room, though. The satchel contained the necklace, and servants snooped, especially Lady Peddington’s Mary. The girl would report the necklace within moments of its discovery.
“I’ll be only a moment. I must return to my quarters.”
“If you don’t mind me saying, Miss, her ladyship seemed agitated, and specifically said she wished to see you immediately.”
Emilia winced. Well, if Lady Cinthia wished to see her in a hurried fashion, she would bear the disrespect of Emilia’s encumbrance. She nodded and gestured for Mary to lead the way.
The walk to the front parlor wasn’t long. Though not the largest receiving room, the space was the most opulent the school boasted. Emilia knew the servants had standing orders to place anyone of noble birth or considerable wealth there. She squared her shoulders as Mary knocked once on the open door.
“Miss Glasbarr, as you requested, my lady,” Mary said, then bowed and stepped inside. She moved to stand to the right of the doorway, gaze ahead and unfocused, awaiting any further orders.
Emilia’s steps faltered as she entered. Straight backed, Lady Cinthia sat perched on the edge of a red velvet, gold fringed settee. White-blonde curls, china-fine skin and graceful limbs, all arranged in stiff perfection. Light blue eyes, not hazel ones of an undefinable color like Emilia had, regarded her above high cheek bones. With a woman as beautiful as Lady Cinthia in his home, how could the viscount possibly care to stray?
Emilia managed a somewhat graceful curtsey, which Lady Cinthia acknowledged with a nod. When Emilia straightened, she took up a study of the opulent red and gold carpet, aware the viscountess scrutinized her. Emilia glanced up in time to see those ice blue eyes look past her to the maid.
“We do not care for refreshments, or to be disturbed,” Lady Cinthia said in perfect English tones, rarely heard in Edinburgh. “Close the door when you leave.”
Emilia’s face heated. To offer refreshments and dismiss the maid was her role. She hadn’t, though. She’d stood there like the country dolt she was.
The door closed with a thud. Silence stole over the room. Emilia felt like a child called before her mother to answer for her crimes.
“Well, come here, girl.” Lady Cinthia’s words snapped with impatience.
With careful steps, Emilia crossed as far as the end of the settee. Lady Cinthia’s cloying perfume filled her nostrils. Emilia didn’t know where to look. Though she felt it impossible the other woman knew of Viscount Dunreid’s kiss, his determination to make her his mistress, and the very expensive gift in the satchel she clutched to her side, guilt and shame prevented her from meeting Lady Cinthia’s eyes. Emilia couldn’t very well stare anywhere lower, though. After a few glances, she settled on a spot over the woman’s left shoulder.
A sigh escaped the viscountess. “You’re a buxom little thing, aren’t you?”
Was she supposed to reply to that?
“Not what I imagined at all,” Lady Cinthia continued. “Although I suppose some men find a lack of sophistication attractive, in a tawdry sort of way.”
Emilia’s face grew hot. How much of her husband’s plans did the viscountess know? “I beg your pardon, my lady?”
“Why? Have you done something that requires my pardon?”
Emilia yanked her gaze to meet the woman’s stare. “Oh no. Of course not. I wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t you?” Blue eyes narrowed. “Tell me, then, what am I to think when my husband comes to breakfast with a black eye? Then, when I have him followed, as any good wife would, he goes to the most expensive jeweler in town, picks out a costly trinket, and has the shop owner send the bauble here, to you. A gift like that is only given for unpardonable things.”
“Oh, but I didn’t do anything,” Emilia cried. She dropped to the settee, satchel clutched before her. “I really didn’t. Viscount Dunreid tried...that is, he may have asked…but maybe I misconstrued. I must have, of course.” Shut your mouth, Emilia, she railed in her head. You don’t tell a woman that her husband is trying to have an affair with you, especially not a powerful socialite who could see you run out of town.
“What did my husband ask?” Lady Cinthia’s tone was icy.
Emilia shook her head. “Nothing.”
“And you refused him this nothing?”
Hesitantly, Emilia nodded.
Lady Cinthia snapped to her feet. Back straight, she paced away, then spun to face Emilia. “You fool girl, that’s the worst thing you could have done. Ailbeart loves the hunt. How do you think I ended up with such a wealthy, titled, self-proclaimed bachelor? All of London told him I was the one woman he would never win.” She aimed another glare at Emilia. “If you’d simply given in to him, he would have moved on and I would be the one receiving gifts, by way of apology, as it should be.”
So, she was to blame, for not permitting Viscount Dunreid to have his way with her? The unfairness of Lady Cinthia’s logic stung. Emilia wrenched open her satchel and pulled out the box. She proffered the unwanted gift. “You take this, then. It should be yours. I want nothing to do with the viscount, or his gifts.”
Lady Cinthia eyed the box. Quick strides brought her back to the settee. She snatched the box from Emilia’s hand and open the lid.
“It’s hideous.” Lady Cinthia grimaced down at the pendant. “But I could have the stones reset into separate pieces.” She shoved the lid closed and leveled a contemplative look on Emilia. “I will take this.”
Emilia vented her relief in a long exhale. At least that was one trouble solved. “Please, my lady, I don’t want anything that�
�s yours. How can I…extricate myself from this?”
Derision shone in Lady Cinthia’s eyes. “I find that statement difficult to believe, Miss Glasbarr. Everyone wants something of mine, be it wealth, social advantage or a matter of the flesh.”
Emilia fended off a grimace at the woman’s vulgar words. “I assure you, I do not. I only want a husband and a small home, and I’ve made arrangements to seek those things. Why, this afternoon, I’m going for a ride in the park with Mister Banbrook to—”
“A ride in the park with Mister Banbrook?” Lady Cinthia snapped.
Too late, Emilia recalled there was some greater connection between the two than both being English. Lady Cinthia glowered at her for a moment, then threw her head back and laughed, to Emilia’s astonishment. When she lowered her chin, she leveled a hard, pity-filled look on Emilia.
“You’ll have no luck with Banbrook, my dear. He’s one who will never wed.” Her lips pulled into a smile, but her blue eyes were devoid of kindness. “You know Miss Kitty Thomas jilted him only last week? She was a smart girl, to see he was only leading her on.” She lowered her voice, conspiratorial. “He likes to engage himself to a girl so he can, shall we say, sample the wares, but he doesn’t mean to see the engagement through.”
Emilia gaped. Could that be true? Mister Banbrook hadn’t struck her that way at all. She shook her head in disbelief.
“Trust me. We were engaged for two years, back in London. Ask anyone.” Lady Cinthia’s parody of a smile was patronizing now.
Unsure what to make of such an accusation, Emilia blurted, “I thought you left him.” Hadn’t the viscount said something about Mister Banbrook being jilted yet again?
Lady Cinthia nodded. “I did. How long would you wait for a man to reach the altar?” She tapped the pendant box against her thigh in an agitated rhythm.
“I do no’ know,” Emilia murmured, thoroughly confused. She did know one thing, though, lady or no, wronged party or not, the viscountess seemed increasingly like a terrible person. One Emilia didn’t wish to spend further time with.