by Tarah Scott
“Such an innocent.” Lady Cinthia shook her head. “It’s a shame you’ll have to grow out of that. I daresay your naivete is the sum of your appeal.” She looked Emilia up and down again, her expression one of distaste. “Certainly, your allure doesn’t stem from your overly-plump curves or straw-yellow hair.”
Emilia clutched her satchel close and hunched her shoulders in an effort to hide at least some of her distasteful curves. The viscountess’s words were ones she’d heard since the age of sixteen, but Emilia had no ready reply. She knew she was a plump little country mouse. That’s why she’d come to finishing school, to try to become suitable for city life.
Lady Cinthia shrugged, the gesture dismissing Emilia’s lack of worthiness as beneath her notice. “I can see myself out. Take my advice, return to wherever you came from before you become embroiled in a world you’re too simple to understand.” She strode to the door and stopped, back to Emilia. “I trust this is the last I’ll have to see or hear of you.”
Lady Cinthia swung open the door and swept gracefully from the room. Emilia remained hunched on the settee. Could the viscountess be right?
Chapter Six
ROBERT WHISTLED AS HE tied his cravat in readiness for his ride with Miss Glasbarr. A ride in the park used to be one of his favorite activities. Fine weather. Expertly guiding his team. Light banter with his acquaintances. An exquisite woman by his side.
He hadn’t taken Kitty Thomas to the park. The idea of doing so brought Cinthia too much to mind. Today, his thoughts held no room for the willowy socialite he’d worshiped for years. Instead, his imagination dwelled on a petite, slightly buxom, golden haired girl whose Scottish burr was made lovely by traces of a soft country lilt.
He wondered if Miss Glasbarr had an appreciation for fine horseflesh. Most women did not, but she was from the countryside, and he’d overheard the tail end of her discussion with Campbell. Had she been humoring the unworthy fop, or genuinely interest? It would be a marvelous thing to travel the park’s lanes with someone he could converse with on one of his favorite topics. So many splendid teams would be on display during the afternoon promenade.
His hands stilled halfway through the final knot. And there would be many eligible gentlemen, and introductions to be made. That was the main goal of the outing, after all. He must not lose sight of the point of their ride. Robert gave his reflection a firm nod and finished the knot.
He permitted his valet to help him shrug into his coat and left the room. The plush carpets in his chamber gave way to equally luxurious weaves in the hall. What would Miss Glasbarr think of his Edinburgh home? She dreamed of something a bit shabbier for herself, he would wager, but surely opulence would be a pleasant surprise? A man couldn’t help if he was wealthy, after all. Not that Robert was the wealthiest man in Edinburgh, but after a certain point, greater wealth couldn’t add additional ease—or joy—to life. Robert was well past the point where more money could increase his happiness.
He accepted hat and gloves from his butler, Edwards, and left his townhouse. As he descended the steps, a large black lacquered carriage pulled away from the curb down the street and rolled to a halt behind his curricle. He eyed the crest on the side with distaste. Dunreid. Robert turned his back and headed toward his own conveyance.
“Mister Banbrook.”
The familiar honeyed tone halted Robert midstride. He turned slowly. His name, uttered in that voice, was the first words Cinthia had addressed to him since she ran off with Dunreid, over a year ago.
The dark red curtains of the carriage were pulled back to frame her alabaster skin and pale locks. She was a painting, or a vision, neither of which were real. Robert stayed where he was, touched with an odd unease. He’d only just begun to shake off the clinging tendrils of her web. He didn’t know if he would survive another entanglement.
“Mister Banbrook, will you not approach?” She dipped her lashes. Ice blue eyes gazed up through them. “I should like to have words with you. Quiet words.”
He looked up and down the street. Seeking aid, distraction? He knew not. Which he sought didn’t matter, for the only other people were their stone-still, expressionless servants. Against his will, Robert walked nearer. Why was she there, now, finally, when he’d pursued her fruitlessly for so long?
“Will you sit in the carriage with me?” she asked when he came to a halt beside the vehicle.
“I think not, my lady. I have someplace to be.” He’d punched her husband the evening before. Did she know he was the one who’d blackened Dunreid’s eye? Was her warmth a lure, so she could issue a complaint?
She craned her head out the window, offering a generous view of long white neck and cleavage. Her eyes narrowed as she took in his curricle. “Going for a ride in the park?”
“I am.”
She turned back and employed her long lashes once more. “Time was, you only rode in the park with me.”
“Time was, we were engaged. Now, my lady, we are not, and you are wed to another man.” He was aware his words were clipped, but what politeness could she truly expect from him?
Her lips flattened into a hard line. He knew her well enough to see the effort she exerted to plump them back into a smile. A white gloved hand snaked through the window and closed on his cravat. She gave a tug and drew him closer. “There are things I should like to speak with you on. Will you not come in off the street? Someone may overhear.”
Though movement was a bit awkward with her clinging to his cravat, Robert looked up and down the street again. The quiet roadway remained empty. The homes were all quite large, with sizable gardens. Few houses led to little traffic. “We seem alone enough, my lady.”
“And why do you insist on my lady, when you once called me your Cinthia?” she asked in a throaty whisper.
“Because you are Dunreid’s Cinthia now, my lady.” It would take a better man than Robert to keep bitterness from his tone.
“But I could be your Cinthia again.” Her hand smoothed his cravat and came to rest against his jacket front, over his heart. “That’s what I’ve come to speak with you about. It’s a very…delicate matter, you understand.” She lowered her voice even more. “You see, I have yet to produce an heir.”
A bolt of pain went through him at her choice of topic. Children, as he’d once envisioned for them. “You’ve been wed little more than a year. I wouldn’t let the lack of a babe worry you.” What was this new torment? Was this her underhanded way of getting back at him for striking Dunreid?
“But I am worried. More importantly, Dunreid is worried. I can tell by the way he looks at me. He means to send me into the country while he does as he pleases and hopes for a by-blow to carry on his line.” Her whispered words held a frantic edge. “Only, I don’t believe I am the trouble. Even with a string of lovers and mistresses, he’s never once sired a child. Once I’m sequestered, I’ll be helpless, but if I can get myself with child now, while Dunreid and I still share a bed, he’ll never know—”
“Enough,” Robert ground the word out.
“But Robert, who else can I go to? You’re the only man I trust.” A sheen of tears formed in her eyes. “You’re the only man I’ve ever loved.”
He backed away from her, a bitter laugh wrenched free. “How easily you employ the word, my lady.” He shook, but knew not if in rage or with some other, more desperate emotion. “Once, I would have believed the claim of love from your lips.”
“Robert,” she hissed. Her eyes darted about, taking in her servants. Dunreid’s servants.
He returned to her carriage window. She was correct, their exchange was not one he would wish overheard. “You cannot ask it of me, Cinthia. I can’t do it.” Though his words were whispered, they grated between lips nearly numb with rage, a throat that felt raw, as if the refusal had torn from him.
Twin lines appeared on her brow. “Can’t? Of course, you can. I shall make aiding me in this easy for you.” A smile curved her lips. “And enjoyable.”
He stared
at her, horrified he’d once loved the creature before him. “Leave me out of your mad scheme. Find someone else.”
Her lips flattened again. This time, she didn’t force a gentler expression. “I won’t take no for an answer, Robert.” She raised a staying hand when he opened his mouth. “Think on my request. That’s all I ask. We’ll speak again. Soon.”
Robert backed away, shaking his head. Perhaps she truly was mad, and bent on dragging him into insanity alongside her. “Let me answer you another way, my lady, for you are correct, I could.” He scoured her with his gaze, took in every perfect feature. “But I won’t. I don’t want to. Not anymore.”
She jerked back. Her features pinched into sourness. “We’ll see, Robert.”
He shook his head again. “If you’ll excuse me, my lady, as I said, I have somewhere to be.”
“I do excuse you, for now.” A new smile reached her lips, but stole even more beauty from her face than her sour expression had. “By the by, you should know that your new little amusement accepted a rather expensive pendant from Dunreid this morning. I’m sure she’ll look lovely wearing his gift.”
Robert retreated another step. She may as well have struck him.
“When will you learn, Robert?” she asked, her look pitying. She yanked the curtains closed. Dunreid’s coachman flicked the reins and the carriage eased around his vehicle.
Robert stood, unable to force movement into his limbs, and watched until the coach turned down the side street out of view. The sun no longer appeared bright. The sky was not blue, but a dull grey. In fact, he was sure the heavens would spew forth rain at any moment. He pivoted on his heels and jogged up the steps. His butler opened the door.
“Tell them to put the curricle away, Edwards,” Robert said as the door closed behind him. “Send for my carriage. I’ll be in my study.” He yanked off his gloves and hat, and proffered them.
His butler excepted the items with the slightest frown. “Your carriage, sir?”
“Yes, my carriage.”
“Not going to the park, then, sir?”
Robert didn’t miss the regret in the man’s tone. He passed a hand over his eyes. He was aware his staff had been worried about him for quite some time. “No. I’m going to my club. Send word to that finishing school, Lady Peddington’s. Tell one of the maids to inform Miss Glasbarr I shall not arrive. Something came up. Perhaps tomorrow.” Robert was struck with the unexpected—and unwelcome—thought that she would be disappointed. “Rather, tell her definitely tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll see to it.”
“Thank you. Let me know when my carriage is ready.” Robert accepted his butler’s nod and headed toward his study. He was sure he had at least one decanter of whisky there.
Chapter Seven
THE DAY AFTER LADY Cinthia’s disturbing visit to the school, Emilia sat in the courtyard once more, as she often did. Her drawing tools lay in their usual arrangement. The page before her, however, remained blank. She would study the row of blossoms she wished to capture, focus on the page, and then her mind would wander.
She let out a sigh. Truth be told, the only thing she wished to sketch was Mister Banbrook’s countenance. His strong jaw, his fathomless grey eyes. She wondered if she could capture his fleeting look of amusement. He was even more handsome when he permitted himself to be cheerful.
She shook her head to dispel his face from her mind, and narrowed her gaze on the flowers. The pink blooms where what she wished to draw. Flowers. Not a man who had no wish to wed, had failed in his promise to take her for a ride in the park and who, she suspected, loved Lady Cinthia. Emilia poised her hand over the page.
Could she count on Mister Banbrook? Even if he wasn’t for her, she still required his protection from Viscount Dunreid, and his aid. True, she’d danced at the second dance, a fine improvement over the first, but she hadn’t snared a suitor. Mister Banbrook had promised to help her find one.
Should she write Sir Stirling again? Ask for a new savior? But if she did that, would she ever see Mister Banbrook again? Not seeing him again seemed quite unacceptable. The thought hurt more than his failure to appear the previous afternoon.
Light footfalls broke into her awareness. She swiveled to find Mary approaching. Emilia wondered what new torment the girl was there to announce.
“Miss, there’s a gentleman asking if you’re in. A Mister Banbrook. He says he’s here to collect you for a ride in the park.”
Emilia stood, unable to suppress a sudden smile. “He’s in the large parlor? Please tell him I won’t be long.” She began stowing her drawing tools.
“I will, Miss. He’s in the small parlor, Miss.”
The small parlor. Emilia frowned. He wasn’t titled.
“Will you require one of us girls to accompany you, Miss?” Mary asked.
Emilia’s hands stilled. She didn’t want to be accompanied by one of Lady Peddington’s spying servants, even if Mary always seemed kind. “Did he arrive in an open vehicle, or closed?”
“A curricle, Miss. A very fine one.”
Emilia raised her eyebrows at that observation. How fine was very fine? Mister Banbrook dressed impeccably, but then the English always did, even if they ended up in debtor’s prison to do so. Yet Mary said he waited in the small parlor. Was he wealthy?
“Given he’s arrived in a curricle, I feel I shall be well enough chaperoned by the community at large, but thank you for the offer.”
“It’s my duty, Miss.”
“Thank you,” Emilia repeated.
The maid left and Emilia finished stowing her drawing tools. She tried not to appear in an unseemly hurry as she carried them to her room, where she would collect gloves, shawl and bonnet. Her feet, however, seemed to wish for a happy pace. Her heart beat easier knowing Mister Banbrook hadn’t abandoned her.
Once properly attired for a ride in the park, Emilia went to the small parlor to find Mr. Banbrook seated on the same settee Lady Cinthia had used. He made the delicate piece look small, almost child-sized. In one flowing movement, he stood and executed a graceful bow.
“Miss Glasbarr. I have come for our agreed upon outing to the park.”
The perfect neutrality of his tone halted her in the doorway. She hadn’t expected warmth, of course, but he seemed almost as if he contained ire. With the English, a cool façade could mean so many things, but his grey eyes were intent on her and not overly convivial in cast. His gaze moved to her throat. She touched her neck, worried something was there.
“Thank you?” She winced at the question in her voice.
“It is my pleasure,” he said in those same cool, clipped tones.
Is it? She wondered. She would more believe the opposite. “I do realize ye must be busy, Mister Banbrook. I mean, you must have other things to do with your day than escort young misses about. If you don’t have the time to take me, I—”
He held up a staying hand. “I do have the time.” Some of the tension left his features. “I was looking forward to a ride in the park with you, Miss Glasbarr.”
Was? Did that mean he wasn’t any longer? How could his attitude toward her have cooled so when she hadn’t set eyes on him since the second ball? “Thank you,” she repeated.
His gaze returned to her neck. She wished for a mirror. Had she broken out in hives? She felt nervous enough to have.
“Shall we?” He raised his eyebrows.
Emilia realized she blocked the doorway. Her face heated as she turned and led the way to the foyer. She mumbled thanks to the butler who opened the door to permit her escape into the cooler air of the street. Her attention fell on a magnificent matched pair of Cleveland Bays.
Their coats gleamed with health, and their deep chestnut tone and glossy black manes mimicked to perfection the lacquered wood and dark trim of the curricle they drew. She could see why even a city-bred girl like Mary would be impressed, though the maid likely saw the vehicle rather than the superb equine specimens.
Mister Banbrook halted
beside her. Emilia schooled her awed expression. She made certain her mouth was closed and headed down the steps. She wished she could introduce herself to the bays but, if she’d learned anything at Lady Peddington’s School, it was that gentlemen didn’t care to have their realms invaded by females unless they led the conversation there, and horseflesh was a man’s business.
Mister Banbrook handed her up, palm warm through his glove. When he climbed in beside her, the curricle dipped, but evened back out. She hid a smile, thinking the team would be better pleased if their master could sit in the center of the bench seat. With his tall frame, he must weigh twice what she did, even if she was too plumply curved, as Lady Cinthia had noted.
Emilia held her breath when Mister Banbrook took up the reins, for it would be a travesty if he couldn’t handle the pair as well as they deserved. She expelled the air she held, relieved when he guided the curricle into traffic with the offhanded surety of skill. He navigated the mild chaos of Charlotte Square with ease.
By the time they reached the park, Emilia’s mood had lightened. The day was fine, even brighter than the one before and possessed of a light, warm breeze. She rode in the most elegant vehicle she’d ever set eyes on, pulled by a peerless team, with a tall, handsome Englishman beside her. She would not dwell on the fact that he was not to be her tall and handsome Englishman, but rather would enjoy the beauty of the ride.
Mister Banbrook merged his curricle into the parade of vehicles circling within the park, the gentry in each on display for one another. She wore her best day dress, but Emilia realized she appeared a bit shabby for the occasion. Other women wore hats piled high with adornments, held lace parasols offering flattering, dappled shade, and sported glittering jewels. She hoped Mister Banbrook wasn’t embarrassed by her appearance. Certainly, she wasn’t fine enough to occupy his curricle.
She couldn’t suppress a small sigh. How would she ever attract a husband? She had no dowry, no willowy grace like Lady Cinthia, and not enough funds to purchase clothing that would conceal either condition.